As Crimson As My Sins
by Dance Macabre
Summary: He tried so hard to forget... and yet, the memories, so painful, so precious... The memories of Vincent Valentine. Rated for content to come. Hope you enjoy! please review! Helpful Criticism appreciated.
1. A Song of Souls in the Rain

Edge's streets lay empty, the moonlight illuminating the streets softly with a passive, ethereal sheen, barely penetrating the thick, black clouds that shrouded the tranquility of night. Rain, slick, shining, fell heavily from these clouds, each droplet of water shattering into shards of crystal as it impacted upon the floor, shimmering fragments of perfection skittering and splintering with every raindrop.

But not all of Edge's inhabitants were asleep.

Atop the spire of a church, high, high above the city streets, a lone figure stood motionless, gazing up at the full moon impassively, his long, tattered crimson cloak playing out behind him like tendrils from a disturbed wraith, his long dark hair flowing over his shoulders and fluttering with the wind, playing around the pale skin of his neck and face. Crimson eyes maintained a steady gaze at the silvery orb in the sky from beneath a dark red bandanna, unflickering and steady, so contrasting to the pale, smooth skin around it. Crimson… oh, so crimson…

Vincent Valentine's eyes were as crimson as his sins.

Motionless he stood, heedless of the precipitation and wind that plucked at his slim, muscular form, velvet cloak billowing around him, his arms dormant at his sides, lost in thought as the world raged around him, seeking to shroud him in a torrent of rage and despair, dancing a never-ending dance of lightning, sorrow, and tears.

Vincent Valentine did not care. He had been dancing that macabre dance for longer than he could remember.

The eyes slowly closed, and opened again, revealing those haunting, crimson orbs that betrayed so little, and yet so much, self-loathing, pain, and memories seething, barely contained.

_I'm so… I'm so sorry…_

Vincent closed his eyes again, bowing his head at the soft, gentle voice that he had tried so hard to forget flow through his mind.

_Lucrecia…_

But of course, he couldn't forget. Because that was the greatest of all his sins. Because he loved her.

Love wasn't an emotion that came easily to a broken, shattered soul like Vincent. His heart, or what remained of it, had already been through the fires and agonies of the bitterness life had to offer. Now, Vincent Valentine hid his heart away from the world, hid his mind, his soul. Hid his memories.

His memories of her.

_Lucrecia…_

Still he could picture her. Still he could remember the softness of her voice, the frailness of her slim, beautiful face and body, the lovely brown eyes that he had instantly fallen in love with. Still he could remember the desire to simply wrap his arms around her and kiss her sweet, soft lips. But he had not been what she wanted. No, once again irony had played its fickle hand upon his life, denying him the one thing that he had ever truly wanted. It had been… unbearable, that the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life could never be his.

She had chosen someone else. She had chosen _him_.

Vincent no longer held any anger or bitterness that was directed at Lucrecia because of her choice. He had known that he could never have given Lucrecia what she wanted, needed. He knew he would never be enough.

And yet he had loved her.

And he had let her die.

Vincent didn't move, allowing the rain to beat against his bowed head, hiding his pale, haunted face from the night, lost in his memories as the wind swirled around him, lightning flashing and screaming through the skies.

He had not been enough in life. And yet he remained in eternal, self-chosen thralldom to her memory, even in the tangible, shadowy embrace of death. Vincent Valentine had forsaken any denial at his own death long ago. Now, he existed only to atone for his sins, to walk the never-ending road of repentance with the slightest glimmer of hope for forgiveness at the end of that road, wherever it may be.

_Vincent…_

Startled, the shadowy gunslinger raised his head to the skies once more.

"Lucrecia...?" he spoke softly, his lips savouring the feel of the sweet, beautiful name.

_I'm so sorry…_ Vincent shook his head slowly, droplets of rainwater gently falling from his onyx hair.

"No, Lucrecia… it should be I who apologizes… not you."

_You have nothing to apologize for, Vincent._

Was this… a dream? He had not heard her voice in... so long… It tempted him, tortured him… _healed _him… "Lucrecia…"

_Why are you doing this to yourself..?_

The Gunslinger looked at the moon.

"Someone once asked me… whether sins could be forgiven. In my experience… they cannot."

_You have never tried, Vincent. You've been loathing yourself for so long now… isn't it time you finally forgot?_

Vincent shook his head slowly. "My sins make me who I am. I could never forget what I have done… what I failed to do."

He could hear her laughter, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

_Oh, Vincent…_ _do you remember..? Our special place? Under that tree?_

He closed his eyes as the bittersweet pain of memories he had hidden away began to surface. "Lucrecia, please…"

_Your hair used to be so much shorter…_

The Gunslinger sighed.

"My hair suits me fine, thank you."

_I like your phone. _He laughed softly, a sound that was almost drowned out by the wind's shrill song. _What's so funny?_

"Nothing," he said dryly.

_You're still a terrible liar, you know. _More sweet, soft laughter.

"To you, perhaps. I just… can't persuade myself that this is nothing but a dream."

_Do you want it to be? _He could just imagine her tilting her head sideways with that familiar look in her eyes whenever she asked him a question.

"I would be lying if I said I did."

_Vincent..._

"Hmm..?" he looked up again.

_Do you remember..? How we met..? _He didn't answer.

How could he have forgotten? Her eyes… so innocent, so radiant…

"Yes…" he whispered softly, "I remember."

The Gunslinger closed his eyes as the memories that he had tried so hard to lock away came flooding back.

_He hated laboratories. So haunting were the noises of the cryo-tubes, so eerie were the glow of the multiple screens that barely illuminated the gloom of the chamber. Musty tomes and grimoires filled the shelves from floor to ceiling, containing knowledge in both languages still used and languages long lost with the vicissitudes of fate and time. Vincent Valentine's perpetual frown remained upon his face as he approached the female scientist whom had her back to him, mood darkening due to the distastefulness of his surroundings. _

_Nevertheless, he was a Turk, and he had a job to do._

_He halted just before the female, who had not yet noticed his presence due to the silent, swift precision of his well-placed footsteps. Vincent had learnt how to weigh his footfalls perfectly a long time ago, and thus was able to move silently without any major effort._

"_Vincent Valentine reporting for duty ma'am. I have been assigned your protection." Vincent vaguely wondered what sort of a person his charge was likely to be. Was she one of those vaguely-aware scientists, the type who was so lost in her own world of formulae and theorems that she barely retained her sanity? He hoped not. Vincent Valentine was not a person who desired company very much, be it intelligent or not._

_The woman turned to face him, startled at the nearness of his presence that she had failed to notice, and Vincent was instantly stunned._

_Before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. _

_Long, flowing hair coursed down from where a lovely yellow ribbon had bound it up, cascading in a waterfall of honey-brown behind her shoulders and down her back stray strands falling softly past her nose and ending halfway down her face. Soft, gentle hazel eyes that positively shone with innocence met his from beneath that magnificent veil of hair, which in turn revealed a face with skin that was pale and smooth. She wore a long white lab coat, and beneath a unique blue blouse that matched her silky skirt perfectly, also emphasizing the glittering silver pendant that hung just below her neck. Her body was perfect, not overly curvaceous or unformed, and unlike many Shinra employees, her face was not over-lavished with eye shadow, mascara, or any other form of cosmetic._

_Vincent Valentine had never believed in angels, but now, he was convinced that he stood before one._

_The honey-brown eyes met his in puzzlement, and he mentally berated himself, pushing all of his previous thoughts and wonder to the back of his mind. He was a Turk, and could not afford to lose focus of his priorities._

_Soft, full lips slowly opened in a gasp as the woman returned Vincent's gaze. Confused, the Turk automatically frowned. "Huh..?"_

_The woman turned away and spoke softly, in a hushed tone, seemingly speaking to herself. Vincent's eyebrows shot up so high they almost disappeared under his onyx fringe._

"_Why would they send his..?"_

_Vincent frowned again. He was losing his composure, _again_. Assertively, he cleared his throat, albeit still confused, and attempted to retain control of the situation._

"_Excuse me?" His words seemed to have an effect on the woman. Starting, she looked directly at him again, this time with a nervous, shy smile on her features, making her look, if possible, even more beautiful._

"_I apologize. This is the first time I have ever met anyone from the Turks." Her voice was soft, oh so soft, so… melodious. "Lucrecia Crescent. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Valentine." She smiled again, and Vincent felt weak at the knees._

Lucrecia_… he thought, speaking the word again and again through his mind. _

_He liked it._

_From that moment, Vincent knew that he was lost._


	2. Dance With Me

Chapter 2:

The rain continued to beat down on the Gunslinger's crimson-caped shoulders, the lightning casting his wraithlike shadow over the ground far below in the church courtyard. The clouds, more ominous than ever, swirled around above Edge, water falling from them like tears from the heavens themselves, coating everything below with a slick, soaking sheen.

Head raised, eyes closed, Vincent Valentine continued his ethereal conversation with Lucrecia in his mind, still fearing that this recent development was actually a figment of his imagination rather than reality. So long ago he had laid Cerberus and the Death Penalty at Lucrecia's shrine, swearing to never again to raise them in combat, swearing to end his silent self-punishment

All of Vincent's companions had known that the vampiric Gunslinger would never be able to stop torturing himself over his 'sins'; even Cloud had shown his quiet, almost unnoticeable skepticism when Shelke had told them all. True enough, now, only a year after the fall of Weiss and the Tsviets, Vincent found himself unable to push Lucrecia from his mind.

_I'm just that special, huh?_

The crimson eyes opened.

"Lucrecia…"

_I'm sorry… where were we..?_

"How we first met." He could hear her sigh.

_So long ago…_

"Indeed it was…"

_Vincent..?_

"Hmm?"

_Do you ever… think back? Over everything that happened..?_

Vincent sighed softly, his cloak flapping behind him as the wind toyed with the velvet, crimson material. His claw clenched and unclenched slowly, rhythmically, as if he was engaged in a silent battle of wills to regain control, his crimson eyes suddenly seeming tired and mourning. The Gunslinger's shoulders were slumped, as if the world itself was weighed upon his shoulders.

"Every day…" he whispered.

_Vincent Valentine leaned against a wall as he watched the high-class Shinra employees and people intermingling and dancing in their luxurious dresses and tuxedos, always careful to keep one eye focused on that familiar honey-brown shade of hair, a glass of crimson wine in his hand. His other hand was at his side, hidden behind his body, resting on the handgrip of Quicksilver._

_Lucrecia looked positively radiant. Dressed in an elegant black gown that had no trouble displaying her perfect form at all, she caught the eye of many of the ensemble, both male and female. Indeed, the crimson-eyed Turk had trouble keeping his own eye off her, but was contented with assuring himself that he watched her due to his job, and his job only. Vincent was brought out of his reverie with a pang of jealousy as he watched Lucrecia dance with another male Shinra employee; the Head of Bio-scientific Research, Hojo._

_Mentally, Vincent rebuked himself for such thoughts. Jealousy had no abode within the Turk's heart; it was an emotion as foreign to him as the notion of possession. Indeed, Hojo himself was one of Valentine's superiors, who had requested a bodyguard for Dr. Crescent. For Vincent to put his own desires above his latest assignment, even if it was for a moment, was nothing short of inviting folly._

_He forced his eyes away from his charge, albeit reluctantly, and stared out through the balcony opening at the stars, oblivious to the noise and movements of the hall's inhabitants, forcing himself to relax, ever uncomfortable in the smothering presence of so many people. _

_Vincent was a simple person; he didn't fuss over materialistic items, appearance, or any other sort of thing that many others did. He lived by his own code of morals, and lived a simple, standard life, or as standard a life as any hired assassin, mostly keeping to himself. He found it oddly amusing that his appearance and attitude scared off any would-be admirers or agitators, but cared little for it; he had no need for intruders, and even less for a relationship._

'_Until now,' he muttered softly._

_A timid, forced cough startled him out of his reverie to find Lucrecia peering at him with a hesitant smile._

"_Are you alright? You haven't said anything to anyone all night."_

_Vincent gave a disgruntled sound as he sipped his wine._

"_I've never had a thing for parties…" Lucrecia gave a sly grin. Vincent instantly focused all his attention on the woman in font of him; he didn't like that look at all. She grabbed his arm playfully, giving him a gentle tug._

"_Dance with me, Vincent?"_

_The Turk stared. _

"_D-dance?"_

"_Yes, dance! I like this song." Lucrecia canted her head sideways, meeting his crimson eyes questioningly._

_The Turk gave a strangled choke as he warily eyed the already-swaying couples before clearing his throat and trying to retain his cold, indifferent image. Lucrecia giggled; she had seen through the mask he had displayed soon after she had met him, and it was simply hilarious to watch the crimson-eyed man stutter for once._

"_I don-I can't dance." His charge gave the same grin, and the Turk found himself blushing, to his dismay and shock._

"_Liar. Hojo told me that all Turks have to learn how to dance formally as a part of their training, just in case they're put in a situation that demands such a skill to remain unnoticed." Vincent instantly cursed the male scientist with renewed vigor, shooting a vengeful glance at his target before returning his eyes to Lucrecia, who was looking at him triumphantly._

_Crimson eyes glared._

_Brown eyes defiantly stared straight back. _

_Before Vincent could even open his mouth to fire off a response, he found himself being dragged across the dance floor, his hand grasped firmly in Lucrecia's, who seemed to not pay attention to stares they were receiving. At the very center of the floor, she halted, and gently released his hand, looking imploringly into his eyes._

"_Please, Vincent? Just one song."_

_The Turk looked positively murderous._

_But, after noticing the looks directed at them, he inclined his head. Lucrecia smiled softly and snaked her arm around his neck as his arms stiffly found their positions on her waist and her free hand. Lucrecia gave him a smile of encouragement as she slowly began to sway and step to the voice of the woman singing. _

_Her bodyguard's only response was to glare at her. Playfully, she ignored him and commented lightly._

"_See? It isn't so bad, now, is it?"_

_Vincent could feel himself beginning to sweat, despite the cool of the air-conditioned hall. 'Keep it cool, Valentine,' he told himself, 'It's just a dance.' More alarming than the dance however, was the feel of her smooth skin against his hand, exposed by the low opening on the back of her gown. The Turk slowly shook his head, both in answer to his partner's question, and in wonder as to how he had managed to end up in this situation._

_Taking his unspoken response as encouragement, Lucrecia gently disengaged her hand from his and placed it around his neck as well. The Turk jumped slightly, before fixing her with another glare and hesitantly dropping the other hand to her waist. The brown-haired woman gave a soft laugh at her bodyguard's unease, undaunted by his glares. She fixed her eyes onto his and smiled._

"_You know, you really ought to ease up a little, Vincent."_

_The Turk grunted._

"_Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?" She heard him sigh._

"_I don't… I don't usually have the time nor desire to indulge in such activities."_

"_Why not?" Her eyes looked up at him innocently. He found it hard to look away, but eventually forced himself to focus on her beautiful hair._

"_I-I'm usually on a job, or training." The female scientist sighed._

"_You're so different from him…"_

_Vincent met her gaze again. "Different from who?" She shook her head._

_The Turk looked away, ever aware of the close contact that they maintained, extremely conscious of how her hands felt clasped behind his neck. Lucrecia remained mercifully silent for a moment, lost in her thoughts. A strand of her brown hair fell softly in front of her eyes, but before she could release Vincent to brush it back into place, her bodyguard had already brushed it aside gently. Startled, she looked at him, only to see his own eyes blink in confusion at the casualness of the contact between them that bordered on intimate. _

_With a start, Valentine noticed that the song had finished, and that he and Lucrecia had been swaying to the singing serenade of silence for several seconds. Reluctantly, although determined not to show it, he released her gently, backing away from her and inclining his head, his raven hair falling over his crimson eyes. _

_Lucrecia sighed quietly as she watched him turn and return to his corner, not before appropriating another glass of wine that matched the color of his unnatural eyes. Turning, she caught sight of Professor Gast, who smiled warmly and beckoned her over to where he sat with a wave of his hand. Smiling in kind, she joined him, accepting another glass of wine from a passing waiter. In companionable silence, the two eyed Vincent, who carefully watched the crowd with a casual eye._

"_He is quite the dancer," her friend remarked._

"_Yes; it's just a shame he's so… reserved."_

_Gast laughed. "You have a way of putting things very politely, Lucrecia. The two of you seem to be getting along quite well, despite his reluctance to acquiesce to the demands of 'higher society'." His voice grew less merry. "Does he know about what happened to Grimoire?" Lucrecia gave a slow shake of her head._

"_I don't think Vincent really discovered the truth about his father's death. Apart from their appearances, they couldn't be more different!"_

"_How so?"_

"_Vincent's… very awkward, I suppose. He takes everything much too seriously, and, despite his reluctance to admit it, I think he puts on a mask to shield himself with, as if he's afraid that who he really is isn't enough."_

"_He certainly resembles Grimoire," her companion remarked dryly._

"_Yes," she said softly, "He does in a way." As she stared at her bodyguard, she didn't notice Gast's sly but kindly smile._

"_And he's quite the attractive young man."_

"_Yes, he is." _

_It took a full five seconds before Lucrecia realized what she had just said. Ignoring her friend's uproarious laughter, she blushed furiously and shoved him playfully._

"_You should be ashamed, taking advantage of my drunken state!" Amidst his peals of laughter, Gast patted her on the shoulder affectionately._

"_Ah, Lucrecia, you've just admitted that you're attracted-"_

"_I'm not attracted to him!" she hissed, conscious of various inquisitive gazes directed at her. Her companion gave a sage nod before rising and heading off into the crowd._

"_Of course you aren't. Now," he said, catching Lucrecia's glare, "I believe I have some business to speak to Hojo about. I'll see you later!"_

_Her cheeks burning crimson, Lucrecia could do nothing but narrow her eyes at her chuckling friend._

_Vincent snorted. He had heard every single word of the exchange between Gast and Lucrecia with barely any difficulty, his keen, sensitive ears fit to the task, and he shook his head at the playful immaturity of the Professor. _

_Lucrecia turned towards him with a nervous smile and a wave, to which he inclined his head and resumed his careful scrutiny of the party, searching for veiled possibilities of threats from within the crowd, taking another sip of his wine._

_Already he berated himself for his lack of control over his expressions and nervousness for the little display back there. He was a bodyguard. A Turk. An assassin. A cold blooded killer. _

_Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lucrecia chatting animatedly to a fellow colleague, her hands gesturing dramatically to add effect to her words, and he gave a soft, genuine smile, one of the first in a long time. He had forgotten what it was like to feel flustered in another's presence._

_Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to open up just a little… _


	3. Under an Oak Tree

Chapter 3:

A crimson-shrouded man stood atop a church spire, his eyes dark and soulful, his long velvety cloak whispering with the wind that swirled around him, the moonlight illuminating his pale, expressionless face which was angled up towards the sky, clouds reflected in his blood-red eyes. His hands, one covered by an onyx glove, one not a hand but actually a hideous, lethal looking golden claw, were open and empty, his arms hanging by his sides, his entire body as motionless as a corpse. The ends of his cloak were ragged and torn, wraithlike; dancing behind him on invisible stages of air, seeming to hiss balefully, akin to tendrils from a malevolent creature.

Vincent Valentine was, for the first time in years, not fully aware of his surroundings. He was lost. Lost deep in his memories, lost deep in his ethereal conversation with Lucrecia. Heedless of the rain pelting his slumped form, heedless of the precarious danger of the area on which he stood, he closed his eyes again.

_Don't slip._

His eyes snapped open, laced with slight amusement.

_Totally ruined the moment, huh?_

He smirked. "And what moment would this be?"

_A moment of our memories._ Her reply was just as Vincent knew it would be. Inclining his head, the crimson eyed Gunslinger drew a long, quiet breath.

_No, this isn't a dream. _She gave a bemused little chuckle._ How long is it going to take you to believe that?_

"I did not say anything."

_But you thought it. _Deep within his mind, he could hear her teasing him, gently, in the way that only she could. He could feel her impish little grin, several wisps of brown hair falling softly to rest in front of her eyes. He wanted to hold her, to wrap his arms around her, to bury his face into her sweet-smelling hair, to feel her head on his shoulder.

_Vincent…_

"Yes..?"

_Why can't you just move on..? You deserve happiness…_

He opened his eyes and gazed up at the moon and clouds again.

"I cannot."

_Why?_

"I just… I cannot. You were the only one I have ever loved. And besides," Vincent raised his claw and studied it expressionlessly for a moment. "I am a monster. A beast chained in thralldom to his existence, as weak and pathetic as the shell of flesh and bone around my mind was in life."

_You are _not_ a monster, Vincent Valentine! You no longer house Chaos; the Protomateria is gone from within you and gone too is Chaos' presence. What is there to stop you from having a normal, happy life? _

"I am dead, not alive," he countered quietly. "And it is not always the appearance that defines a monster. It is also the mind beneath, the roiling of emotions and consciousness."

_And you view yourself as a monster? Vincent, you weren't the one responsible for what happened to you._

"And yet I am what I am. This is my punishment for my sins. A punishment only I can begin to atone for." There was a long silence.

_You haven't changed a bit, you know. Always believing what you want to believe._

He allowed himself a soft smile.

"And you, too, are the same."

"…_ent…"_

"_?"_

"_Vincent…"_

"…"

"_Vincent..."_

_Vincent Valentine opened his eyes with a start, his eyes widening like a guilty looking schoolboy caught in the act of stealing fruit to the not unpleasant sight of Lucrecia's beautiful brown eyes peering at him, a bemused expression on her face. _

"_Fall asleep here, and you might catch a cold."_

_The Turk instantly shot up, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he flustered, trying to find an excuse for his late little nap. The female scientist laughed softly at his discomfort. _

"_Why are you so surprised? Is my face that hideous?"_

"_No. I didn't… I'm sorry…"_

"_And how are you supposed to be my bodyguard if you're up here sleeping?"_

"_The warm breeze… I was only going to rest my eyes for a minute…" Vincent gulped. It was a lie and they both knew it. He had come here, under this ancient, massive apple tree with the sole purpose of 'liberating' it of its fruit and having a nice long nap. Thankfully, Lucrecia's only response was a knowing smirk as she turned away, facing the field of flowers before them as Vincent sat back and leaned against the tree._

"_Well, I have to admit… the breeze is quite comfortable." The beautiful brunette turned and held up a finger in mock severity. "However, I think you're in my seat."_

_The Turk blinked._

"_Huh?" Lucrecia finally withdrew her hands from behind her back, revealing a wicker picnic basket, much to Valentine's surprise. The Turk's stomach growled and he inwardly glared at himself, cursing his weakness for Lucrecia's delicious spiced beef sandwiches._

"_Care to join me?" Lucrecia held out her free hand with a grin._

_For the first time in a while, Vincent grinned back._

_I take it you liked my sandwiches._

Vincent Valentine blinked, unaccustomed to others being able to read his innermost thoughts and feelings so easily; with easy pivot of his booted feet he swiveled around to face downwards, rainwater dripping off his smooth, angular face, seeping down his cheeks as if they were tears. But they were not.

Vincent Valentine never allowed himself to cry. Monsters did not break down. Monsters did not show their weaknesses. Monsters did not feel. And yet, Vincent felt.

Vaguely, briefly, he wondered whether Lucrecia could read his mind, whether she could see the private little nub of bittersweet, precious, yet scarring memories he hid so deep within his broken soul. Unaccustomed to the feeling of such little security, the Gunslinger felt a slight twinge of unease as he contemplated the possibility further.

"Luc-Lucrecia…" he whispered, his voice harsh and rough as he tried to hide his feelings once more. "How is it that you… can see so deep within me..? That you can see and understand all my thoughts, even though I hide them away..?"

_Vincent…_

"Please… I would know, if you would tell me."

_All the dead… have the ability to see, understand, and relate with the living… especially if they are loved ones. It is the gift of death… the gift of eternal understanding, bought only for the price of the loss of one's life._

The Gunslinger's voice was normal again, controlled.

"I see."

Vincent Valentine gazed up at the moon once more.


	4. The Gunslinger and the Swordsman

Chapter 4:

A scarlet-cloaked man stood motionless under the pouring rain, his lethally sharp-pointed boots atop the spire of a great cathedral, his long, ebony hair whipping around him as the night's wind let loose its fury. Droplets of crystal clear water kissed the few portions of his skin revealed by his heavy, crimson and black clothes, seeping down his pale cheeks like spilt tears. Beneath his scarlet bandanna were his eyes, closed, serene, at peace. At his sides lay his arms, one ending in a hand cloaked by an onyx glove, the other ending in grotesquely long claws of gold, lethally sharp, ready to draw blood.

But Vincent Valentine's thoughts were far from bloodshed. His eyes remained closed, the image of a woman long dead within his mind, the image of his love, the one woman he had opened his heart to, but not had his feelings reciprocated.

_That's not true._

"..?" The eyelids opened, revealing crimson, soulful orbs that shone with singing sorrow.

_You know I loved you._

"…" Vincent did not reply. He bent his legs slightly, and sprang off the cathedral spire, landing gracefully seventy feet below on the cobbled floor of the church courtyard, his ragged, tattered cloak flowing behind him like crimson water, seeming to smolder balefully.

_Vincent..?_

"Yes, Lucrecia?"

_I have to leave for awhile. _Vincent stopped abruptly mid-stride, his raven hair falling in front of his eyes as he digested this particular part of information. During his entire conversation with her, Vincent had momentarily forgotten that she was not alive anymore. Carried away with the joy of being reunited with her, spiritually if not physically, he had not considered the fact that her ties to the mortal plane, questionable though they were, could ever cease to take effect.

"Lucrecia…"

_Don't worry; I'm not leaving forever-not now anyway. I'll be back. I promise._

"Where are you going? Why?" He could hear her laughter, soft and melodious.

_There are duties one has to perform within the Lifestream. Death is not as sweet a slumber as it is believed to be, Vincent; there are many rules to be upheld, many considerations and possibilities. _

"What do you mean?"

_Let's just say that there are many things you still do not understand… Don't worry Vincent, please… I'll be back soon… I promise._

Vincent Valentine gave a slow incline of his head, and he felt the briefest sensation of warmth, almost as if someone had caressed the skin of his face, before he felt her presence depart from his mind. He felt cold, detached, almost as if he had lost something essential and vital to him, as if half of his mind had been cruelly torn away.

He felt lost, again, hopelessly lonely and sorrowful.

But it was a familiar feeling.

Vincent was used to solitude and sorrow; the two were partners in tandem in a melancholy dance, linked to each other closely and strongly. He had learnt to deal with his emotions long ago, to shut himself off, to shield his shattered soul with countless barriers and shields that he had honed to invulnerability. Others could look at him and find him terrifying, or gothic even, but only Vincent, and a few close others, knew of the shattered, heartbroken husk that lay deep within Valentine's soul. His shoulders slumped, Vincent slowly made his way through the pouring rain back to the Seventh Heaven Bar, his crimson eyes darkened and sorrowful.

His eyes flickered with recognition as he rounded the corner of a building and saw a familiar looking motorcycle parked just outside the Bar's entrance, its sleek, ebony chassis shining with the reflected moon, droplets of water sliding smoothly off the edges to fall to the floor below. The Gunslinger allowed himself a soft noise of acknowledgement as he appraised the vehicle. Cloud was back.

Quietly, as not to wake anyone, he strode up the wooden steps to the door, his boots making deep, reassuringly quiet noises on the planks, and gently pushed open the door. Tifa never locked the door; everyone knew that the raven haired bartender was a kind, caring soul who would never object to housing others from the cold night. However, Vincent's superhumanly sharp ears could hear no breathing from any of the spare rooms; evidently the Seventh Heaven Bar had no foreign inhabitants tonight.

Vincent entered the homely warmth of the bar, shaking his head softly to rid himself of any spare droplets of water before giving a grunt of surprise as he looked up.

In a dimply illuminated corner of the room, a spiky blonde haired man sat nursing a cup of hot chocolate in his cupped hands. Cloud Strife looked up at Vincent with a smile of recognition.

The Gunslinger nodded to the Swordsman.

"Cloud."

"Vincent. It's been awhile." Cloud used his booted foot to nudge a stool towards Vincent, which the Gunslinger promptly settled into with a nod of thanks, curious as to how is ears had not picked up Cloud's breathing.

"You are up, even though the hour is late." Cloud took a long sip from the steaming mug.

"I could say the same to you."

Vincent took a moment to appraise his friend, taking in the familiar, brooding and unsmiling face, momentarily surprised at the dullness of Cloud's ice-blue eyes.

Out of all AVALANCHE's members, Cloud Strife was the one whom Vincent felt the strongest kinship for; Cloud's tragic and bitter life was a spiral of sadness and loss that nearly, if not already, matched his own. Yes, Ex-SOLDIER 1st class, or so he said, Cloud Strife was a bitter, sad shell of a man, filled to the brim with a quiet self-loathing and depression due to his failure to save the ones he had loved, particularly Aeris, the flower girl, with whom Cloud had had an unusual yet deep relationship with.

Cloud and Aeris' relationship was something that the rest of the group had marveled and joked at, but never made any move to touch or damage. There was something sadly sweet about the couple, the SOLDIER and the flower girl, each of them completing the other with their own, unique, characteristic personalities. Enter Cloud, a quiet, lone wolf who kept to himself and hardly cared, and then enter Aeris, a kind-hearted, gentle, soft-spoken maiden who had a strong sense of justice and an almost bottomless well of morality and compassion.

And before anyone knew it, Aeris had tamed the cold, selfish Ex-SOLDIER, awakening within him passionate, caring flames which even he did not believe to still exist. For awhile, Aeris and Cloud had been the perfect pair, with even Tifa, whom was deeply in love with Cloud, had stepped down to make room for.

They had been symmetrical. Two halves of a whole. Two wings that had bonded together to make a pair that possessed such a beauty of innocence and love that had rivaled any other. Yes, Cloud and Aeris had been AVALANCHE's own sweet little love story.

And then, she had died.

Vincent Valentine remembered the moment well. He remembered hearing the blonde man's scream of denial and agony as he threw aside his sword and fell to his knees, catching the flower girl's limp, delicate body as she lay in his arms, crimson soaking the pair of them. He remembered how Cloud had placed his hand desperately over Aeris' horrendously wounded ribcage, telling her that she would be okay, begging her to stay awake. He remembered the long, cold laugh of Sephiroth as he had looked upon the two lovers, cruelly amused by Cloud's screams for Tifa to cure Aeris, tears he did not even notice falling from both his eyes and hers.

Everyone had said that Cloud was unbreakable, a pillar of quiet, if arrogant, strength that would continue fighting no matter what was thrown at him, a steadfast, fearless leader who cared as much for his friends as they had cared for him. But Vincent remembered the night of Aeris' death well.

Because it had frightened him.

The only time Vincent Valentine had felt fear since his awakening from the cold slumber of death was that night, because of the image that he had seen.

But Sephiroth had broken Cloud.

Ever since then, Cloud Strife had lived half a life, speaking with half a voice, thinking with half a mind, dreaming half a dream every time he closed his eyes. He walked like a dead man, as if every day he forced himself to live on for just a little longer, rather than actually wanting to. Even the presence of the fatal Geostigma, brought on by Kadaj and his two brothers, had not been enough to frighten Cloud with the presence or nearness of death.

Because death was secretly what Cloud wished for.

Vincent could recognize the look in the now dull, wasted eyes from beneath the golden fringe. He recognized the pain, the fatalism, the lack of the will to live.

Perhaps it was Aeris' temporary spiritual return that had saved the world from Sephiroth when Kadaj brought him forth again. It was Aeris' spirit that had persuaded Cloud to finally have the courage to wield his swords against Bahamut-Sin in Edge. It was Aeris' spirit that had cured the world of the terrible Geostigma, allowing them all to live again.

It was Aeris' spirit that had finally told Cloud that she did not blame him.

Cloud's soul was a sad, pitiful one, broken and shattered beyond repair. He was like an ageing dancer, forever cursed to sway in the haunting tandem of life, constantly fading away more and more, his movements moving from being graceful to haunted, beautiful to broken. His life was a neverending tango of tears, an everlasting shadow of guilt, love, loss, and self-loathing that cloaked him and all of those around him.

It was this reason why Vincent Valentine felt such a strange kinship to him.

It was Cloud Strife who reminded Vincent Valentine of his own sad little story.

Opposite Vincent, Cloud raised his mug to his lips again, taking a long draught of the delicious smelling liquid. With a tip of his hand, he offered the mug to Vincent, but the Gunslinger shook his head.

"No, thank you." Vincent watched as Cloud nodded with a quiet smile as he returned to his drinking.

"How long are you back for, Cloud?" Vincent couldn't help but tilt his head to glance in the direction of Tifa's bedroom, careful to mask his expression when he did so. The Swordsman winced as he followed Vincent's gaze, a look of momentary guilt passing across his face.

Ever since Aeris' death, Tifa had been there for Cloud. Careful not to try to impose herself on him as a substitute for the flower girl's presence, Tifa had consoled herself with being there for Cloud despite the fact that the Swordsman gently pushed her away each time. Probably Aeris' closest friend other than Cloud, Tifa had decided that she would continue to support the blonde haired dreamer as best she could, in tribute to the memory of her long-gone friend.

Cloud was quiet for a moment before he answered. "I'm leaving again, the day after tomorrow."

The two sat in a companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Vincent wistfully wished for Lucrecia's soothing presence again, longing for the sound of her gentle, soft voice. He was startled when Cloud spoke suddenly.

"Actually… I came to find you, Vincent." The Gunslinger's crimson eyes met Cloud's azure ones.

"Is there something for which you require my assistance?" The blond was silent for a moment.

"I found something in Nibelheim. Something in the Shinra Mansion."

Vincent stiffened. The Shinra Mansion had been the location where he had condemned himself to a decade of solitude, lying lifeless and alone within the claustrophobic confines of a coffin in an attempt for atonement for his sins.

"What did you find?" Cloud met his eyes again in a firm, steady gaze.

"Despite how this may sound, I want you to listen to me, regardless of what you may think." Cloud hesitated.

Vincent's only response was a silent nod.

"I think I've found a way to bring back Aeris."


	5. Sibilant Voices of Hope

Chapter 5:

The Gunslinger stared at the Swordsman in silence for a moment, his crimson eyes unusually devoid of emotion, even for him. Then in a quiet, harsh voice, he spoke.

"Explain."

Cloud took a final sip from his mug before setting it quietly on the table, running a hand through his golden locks as he struggled to find the words.

"I found a Materia in the Mansion."

Valentine raised an eyebrow. Hardly a shocking discovery.

"A White Materia."

That got Vincent's attention. Materia were mystical, opaque solids formed from the very same abyssal ether that flowed through the current of the Lifestream, raw vessels of pure spiritual energy. Imbued with unnatural powers, the orbs could be absorbed into the body or weapon, transferring their unique characteristics to the user or instrument. Manipulation of time, control of the elements, healing, even the summoning of greater spirits; different Materia could confer these potent abilities to their users. Dependant on the nature of the energy within, each type of Materia was flawlessly unique. Materia used to control elements, for instance, were usually characterized by a luminescent green hue. Summon Materia on the other hand, were spheres that shone with a burning crimson. A glowing golden globe signified Ability Materia.

The only white Materia Vincent had ever seen was the one Aeris had carried, one that she said was passed down to her from her mother, and, through her, her ancestors. Aeris had initially told them that the Materia was useless, devoid of any power, but such was not the case; in truth, the White Materia was possibly the most potent possible, containing the power to cast Holy, the ever-shining light, existing to counter the equal power of the Black Materia, used by Sephiroth to summon Meteor, the harbinger of destruction. After the events of Meteorfall and the Fall of Sephiroth, Cloud and the others had thought the White and Black Materia gone, lost forever.

"May I?" Cloud nodded, reaching deep within his cloak and withdrawing a sphere of luminescent radiance, and passing it to the Gunslinger, who inspected it closely.

To say it was beautiful would have done the sphere little justice. It shone with a shimmering silvery glow that cast shadows behind Vincent and Cloud, a dancing aura of pure, pristine light dancing around the Materia like an afterglow. Vincent immediately thought of Lucrecia in her shrine of Mako Crystals, and the flowing white garments she wore that were so similar in colour to the magical form of energy that sat within the palm of his gloved hand. With a frown, Valentine pushed thoughts of the scientist out of his mind, focusing instead on his friend.

"It is beautiful."

"I…" Cloud faltered for a moment. "I can't use it."

Vincent could sense the Swordsman's frustration at his inability, and, obviously in Cloud's view, his incompetence.

"We do not choose the Materia," Vincent said softly. "They choose us."

"Vincent. Will you try to harness its power?"

There was a silence.

Vincent Valentine stared at the sphere of light in his hand.

He had never, during all of his travels, attempted to harness the power of any Materia directly with his own body. The consequences were too dire; Vincent was not like any of the others in the sense that his body was not living, nor was it human.

_A construct,_ he thought bitterly. _The shell of a monster, hideous, depraved._ Yes, his body had housed the Protomateria, implanted in his flesh by Lucrecia to save him from the terrible, warped energies of the enigmatic being that was Chaos, Omega's squire to the lofty heavens. The power of the Protomateria combined with the lingering effects of Chaos' presence had been enough to transform Vincent's physical body into a near indestructible husk. His wounds healed in a matter of moments, his muscles superhumanly potent, his senses numbingly acute.

The perfect host for Chaos.

And from the very moment he had awoken from the icy grasp of death, Vincent Valentine despised himself, abhorred this twisted fusion of mutated flesh and bone that was him, that housed the vile monstrosity that was himself.

"Cloud," he said quietly. "I have not attempted to use Materia directly since I died. The possibility that this of all the Materia is attuned to me is next to none."

Cloud Strife looked up then, and Vincent saw the pain, the desperation that filled his hooded, haunted look, sympathy and sorrow embracing what was left of his heart. A White Materia, if compared to the power contained within that of Aeris', could truly be the key to bringing back the dead. But nevertheless…

"Please, Vincent… just try. Please…" Cloud whispered hoarsely. Vincent's only response was to nod silently, as he clasped the orb.

"I have no desire to grant you false hope. But if it is what you truly wish of me, then I accept."

Slowly, as if he were an addict handling an opiate or drug he had been too long without, Vincent Valentine focused his mind upon the White Materia that shone in his grasp.

The effect was immediate. With a flash of brilliant light, the Materia hummed gently as it lost its solidity and became a fluid mass of spiritual energy, rings of silvery luminescence coalescing into a single form, merging with Vincent's body. With a surge of awareness, the Gunslinger felt a shudder of something akin to pleasure course through his nerves, the breath leaving his lips in a single, soft gasp as he felt the spiritual energy flowing through his form, rejuvenating him. And yet, he felt something else. A whispering, faint caress touch his face, like a light, pleasant breeze.

And suddenly, he felt _her_.

He felt the caress of her skin against his, her soft hair as it danced along his skin, sending ripples of awareness down his spine. He inhaled, and his senses were filled with her intoxicating, sweet scent that awoke parts of his painful, precious memories that had long lay dormant, fragments of a time long gone that he had meticulously buried deep within his mind with the utmost care, vowing never to attempt to piece them together again.

For the first time, it _hurt_.

Beside him, Cloud's eyes were alight with hope for the first time that Vincent had seen since before Aeris' death. "You've done it, Vincent," he whispered. "The Materia chose you…"

Vincent Valentine studied his hand in silence, his breathing controlled and even, betraying none of the pain he had felt during the process of the fusion. He felt… _empty_. Broken. Shattered. Lost.

And yet, for the first time, he felt complete.

Cloud's quiet voice broke into his thoughts.

"Vincent? Are you all right?"

Carefully, the Gunslinger focused again and removed the Materia from his body before turning to Cloud, handing the magical sphere to him.

"I'm sorry, Cloud. I feel… tired. It's been… such a long time since I…" his voice trailed off as he contemplated what he wanted to say. However, he noticed, to his consternation, that his friend was looking at him with something like sorrow in his eyes.

Sorrow for Vincent.

"I understand. It's too late for this anyway; We'd better get some sleep. Good night, Vincent. And… thank you." Cloud's eyes were enigmatic and hooded. With a nod, the Swordsman took his leave of the crimson-cloaked Gunslinger and padded off silently to his room, quietly closing the door behind him. For his own part, Vincent rose and made his way to his own room, climbing into the coffin that lay in the corner of the room. With a ripple of surprise, he found a sheet of paper within the wooden construct with handwriting on it.

_When are you going to get rid of this thing and sleep in a real bed?_

_ -Tifa_

Vincent snorted and lay back, closing his eyes and allowing the darkness to claim him once more.


	6. I Hate the Rain

Chapter 6:

_Vincent Valentine hated the rain. _

_Maybe it was because with it came clouds, ominous, brooding, sweeping over the world like a blanket of leeching melancholy. Maybe it was because of the sound of the thunder, deep, commanding, foreboding. Maybe it was the smell of the rainwater, pungent with a subtle yet distinguishable reek of the taint of Mako. The vast reactors funded and built by the Shinra Company had begun to take their toll on the Planet, corrupting the earth around them, slowly killing the very air with their steady stream of oozing pollutants. Sometimes, Vincent wondered whether the Shinra Company would ever stop taking from the Planet and give for a change._

_But such thinking was not his place, and he never allowed himself to explore possibilities and temptations that were not his to explore. He was a Turk, hired by the Shinra Company. He had a job to do._

_And presently, Vincent Valentine was not doing his job very well, an occurrence that was exceedingly rare for the crimson-eyed man._

_There was something wrong with Lucrecia._

_For the previous few weeks, his honey-haired angel had been in a perpetual state of… depression. No longer did her eyes light up with that ever so familiar, ever so lovely hint of mischievous playfulness whenever she saw him. Her days at the laboratory, long and tedious as they were, consisted her remaining seated at her desk, surrounded by piles of ancient, dusty tomes and flickering computer screens, buried in the gloom of the cryo tubes. Her face was constantly weary, tired, resigned, and she moved with a sweeping, shuffling emptiness that Vincent found difficult to watch without interfering._

_Yes, something was definitely wrong with Lucrecia._

_But what it was, he simply could not place. It was… frustrating._

_With a flare of surprise, the Turk started from his position leaning against the window which was assailed by tendrils and pellets of seeping rainwater, his own reflection gazing back at him from the translucent window pane._

_Caring for others was an emotional burden that had never came to Vincent Valentine before. He was a typical loner, needing no company, desiring it even less. Even in his childhood the unnaturally emotionless man had remained isolated from the rest of society, hidden behind his own walls of self-discipline and security. The raven-haired man had secretly believed emotional attachment to be a weakness of sorts, debilitating and dilapidating to the soul. He simply couldn't understand how others could bring themselves to depend on others, to allow their emotions to show. If one never allowed one's hopes to rise, then one would never suffer the possibility of being denied. Hope itself was the first step down the long road to disappointment._

_And now, the assassin found himself constantly eying his ward with open concern and barely-suppressed longing, a prospect that he found faintly alarming. _

_His attention snapped from his thoughts as Lucrecia, clad in her trademark black skirt and royal blue blouse, wandered absently from shelf to shelf in front of him, raising a slender, delicate arm every now and then to withdraw another book from the countless assortment of musty grimoires that sat upon the wooden shelves. Her face was empty and set, her eyes sunken and hollow, her expression haggard and weary. Making her selection, she turned and made to return to her desk, which was already teetering with a precarious stack of tomes._

_Unable to resist himself, the Turk rose from his silent position of vigil, approaching the back of the unaware scientist._

"_Lucrecia." He said softly, his voice firm and deep. Surprised, his charge turned slightly to fix him with a gaze of vague perplexity; Lucrecia had long since gotten used to Vincent's periods of silent vigil and his lack of desire to speak or get distracted whilst on an assignment. After her day was up in the lab her would usually relent to her teasing, and sometimes make light conversation with her. But Lucrecia had not been the same for a long time, and he was growing worried._

"_Yes?"_

"_Is… is everything all right?"_

_She raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Yes, I'm fine. Is something wrong?"_

_Vincent took a moment to respond, struggling to find the right words._

"_N-no… I was just… worried, I suppose."_

"_Worried? About what?" She canted her head sideways a little, fixing him with a shadow of the look of impish, gleeful curiosity he had secretly loved._

"_About you." Lucrecia gave a tired little laugh._

"_Me? I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all." _

"_Are you sure? Lately you seem… preoccupied. Distracted. Did something happen? Something at home perhaps?" Clearly confused, Valentine studied her expression closely. It didn't change._

"_No… really, Vincent, I'm fine. Please don't worry about me; I just have a lot of work to get done." With a slight smile, she turned away from him and returned to her seat at her computer, the sickly glow of the monitor playing onto her bare skin. Vincent swallowed, before approaching her from behind and gazing at the screen._

"_If it's not too much to ask… I've always been curious about what you research. Would you mind telling me a little about it?"_

_The brunette moved aside to let him into the seat, allowing him to read her screen, patiently waiting for her bodyguard._

"_A Thesis of the origins of Omega, Chaos, and the Planet-what kind of research is this? Aren't you a biologist?" Lucrecia actually gave a smile as she nodded gently, taking a seat on the tabletop beside him._

"_Yes, I'm a biologist. I specialize in the fields concerning the Lifestream, and the ecology and nature of the Planet. We scientists refer to the Planet as an organism itself; my research is involved with the nature of this organism."_

"_Then what is 'Omega'? 'Chaos'?" Vincent Valentine noted, with a swell of warmth in his chest, that Lucrecia seemed to be lightening up a little, her face regaining some of its familiar brightness at elaborating her interest in her work._

"_It's the common view of Planet-specific Biologists like myself that there exists an ultimate organism, deeply attuned both physically and spiritually to the Planet. We named this theoretical organism 'Omega'." Seeing Vincent's blank look, she smiled again and began to elaborate._

"_You see, Vincent, if the Planet is indeed an organism, then at some point it too, will wither and die. That's the nature of every living creature in the universe as we know it; there is a time of birth and life, and as the ancient cycle goes on, there is also a time of death and decay. Everything originates from the current of energy we call the Lifestream."_

_The Turk gave her a curious glance. "So the Lifestream exists on different planets as well?" He was rewarded with a nod._

"_Inside every being, there is a current of spiritual energy that is what we call the Lifestream. Some say that that is what gives sentient beings souls, so to speak. When we die, this current in our body dissipates, and returns to the Lifestream engirdling the Planet; similarly, when the Planet dies, it is believed that somehow, Omega will gain consciousness, awakened by the death throes of the Planet. His purpose: to gather all life, sentient and non, and lead it into the sea of stars, where it will embark on a fabulous journey down a road untraveled."_

_The Turk, who had been listening in rapt silence for the past few minutes, finally spoke._

"_And what of this Planet?"_

_Lucrecia sighed._

"_Anything that has shape will one day cease to exist, Vincent. The same is true for this world. When Omega has lifted the life from this Planet, all that will remain will be an empty shell, destined to die silently in the limitless void of space."_

"_And… Chaos?"_

_She smiled enigmatically, before matching his eyes with her own honey-brown gaze._

"_Soul wrought of terra corrupt, quelling impurity, purging the stream to beckon forth the ultimate fate. Behold, mighty Chaos, Omega's squire to the lofty heavens."_

_Vincent shivered involuntarily. "The harbinger before Omega?" Surprised, Lucrecia met his gaze for a moment before giving an appreciative nod at his understanding. Vincent gave a quiet sigh of wonder as he flickered his eyes to the screen and back to Lucrecia._

"_That's… amazing. You should publish it-it's magnificent." She beamed, blushing at his statement before seeming to darken somewhat."_

"_My thesis… most of the others in the Shinra Company deem it too… abstract, too complex. They say it's simply unconceivable. They laughed at it."_

_Vincent felt an alarming heat flush into his nerves; it took him several seconds to realize that it was anger. No, it was fury._

"_Well, I think they're fools. It's brilliant; perhaps they just fear the truth of your words." _

"_Well… they do have a point. It's certainly very imaginative. Maybe they're right to mock me. Maybe my research is worthless." She paused. "What am I even doing here..?"_

_It suddenly became very clear to Vincent that his charge was filled with uncertainty and doubt. Seeing her distraught face drove him into a rage that surprised him. _

"_Lucrecia," he suddenly said in a harsh, unwavering voice, "You are not worthless in any way. You are intelligent, caring, and not to mention, a beautiful woman. I think you're perfect, and… that's why I love you." It was an abrupt statement, an impulsive one. _

_Lucrecia looked at him, surprised by his sudden outburst. "Vincent…"_

_It took him several seconds to realize what he had just said, and he inwardly gaped at his bluntness. "I-I'm sorry-"_

_How could he have said that? What was he _thinking_? What was he _doing_? He had never openly told anyone in his life about feelings such as these. And now, he was going to suffer for the consequences of his stupidity. Silently, his head bowed, he made to rise from the seat, already feeling the prickling of shame and embarrassment burning down his spine. He refused to look at her; instead, he orientated himself towards the door. _

_This had gone on long enough. He couldn't afford to suffer mistakes and outbursts like these anymore. By revealing his feelings, he had compromised his job and proven his incompetence and lack of professional behavior. He would apply for a transfer in the morning-_

_A hand caught his arm. _

_Slowly, betraying no hint of his surprise, he turned and looked at her wordlessly. _

_It was her eyes, he decided._

_The way she stood there, looking at him, her expression one of serene yet evident surprise, her eyes ever so slightly widened in comprehension, the way her hair flowed down her shoulders over her simple yet elegant outfit. She looked so tired. So very tired. Rings that kissed the underside of her eyelids with promises of darkness betrayed her lack of sleep._

_And yet, he had never seen her look more beautiful._

_Carefully, hesitantly, she eased off her perch on the desk, still maintaining her delicate grip on his arm, refusing to let him go. They stood in silence, their souls dancing in tandem through their unwavering gaze into each other's eyes. Slowly, as if waiting for her to push him away, Vincent's hand lifted to her chin, and then her cheek, gently running his fingers over her smooth, pale skin._

_He wasn't sure who made the first move, her, or him, but by the time he had registered having actually moved, they were kissing, hot and fierce, clinging to each other, his arms engirdling her waist, her slim arms snaked around his neck, her hands buried in his raven hair. _

_Her lips tasted so sweet, so warm and soft, her scent filling and overwhelming his senses as they pressed against each other, Vincent falling back into the chair with Lucrecia in his lap, his hands lost in her hair as they both moaned into the kiss._

_They broke apart for air, inhaling in little gasps as he brushed his lips softly along her jaw, prompting a groan from her as she claimed his mouth in another heart-wrenching kiss. Vincent Valentine's heart was racing, pounding, pulsing with a rapid tattoo that seemed to set his nerves alight with fire. He had never felt, or allowed himself to feel anything like this before. _

_So why did it feel so right? So good?_

_Why did it make him feel so complete?_

_His hands seemed to move with a life of their own; desperate to feel the warmth of her skin, he slipped a hand beneath her blouse, running his fingers and palms along her back, pulling her to him. She hissed softly as their skin made contact, sparks seeming to coalesce between their bodies._

_Then, it happened._

_With a gasp, she frantically pulled away from him, her eyes wide and disbelieving, her hair falling askew into her eyes as she quickly tried to straighten down her blouse. Vincent, who hadn't realized that she was actually pulling away from him, stared at her blankly for a moment._

_Then, weakly, he looked at her, although she wouldn't meet his gaze._

"_L-Lucrecia?"_

_Her eyes were wild, panicked, unfocused, hysterical._

"_What am I doing?"_

_Disturbed, Vincent managed to straighten his spinning mind and rose from the chair, approaching the woman who was close to hysterics as she refused to look at him, her gaze firmly focused on her feet._

"_What's wrong, Lucrecia..?" Before he could touch her, she spun away from him wildly, backing up. He froze._

"_I-I can't, Vincent," her voice was a barely perceptible whisper, and to his consternation and horror he saw tears threatening to spill from her lovely eyes. "I'm so sorry…"_

_And with those words, the female scientist turned and fled from the room, her footsteps rapid and loud on the wooden flooring of the laboratory, the doors flung open and swinging. Vincent swore and made to follow, brushing his hair out of his eyes in a rush._

"_Lucrecia!" He could hear her sobs echoing down the corridor._

_Running through the door, he collided face first with Professor Gast, who was just walking into the room, a look of perplexity on his face. The resulting impact sent the Turk and the scientist tumbling to the floor, each clutching their heads and groaning in pain. Vincent, recovering from the collision first, hurriedly pulled his superior to his feet, looking desperately down the corridor for a familiar shade of brown hair._

"_I'm sorry, sir-" he stuttered, only to be silenced by a casual wave from Gast._

"_Don't worry about it, Vincent. Why was Lucrecia in such a state?"_

_The Turk's eyes were filled with shame and self-loathing; he could only give a feeble, pathetic shrug. Thankfully, Gast did not seem to notice the disheveled appearance of Vincent's attire, and gave a thoughtful sound as he looked worriedly down the corridor._

"_Perhaps you'd better go after her… ah, what timing. I simply wished to congratulate her-is that why you are here?"_

_Vincent looked at him blankly. "I'm her bodyguard, sir… I have no idea what you're talking about."_

"_Truly? I had assumed everyone in Shinra had heard by now. He's a lucky man, that Hojo. She's a beautiful young lady; such a young age to be married! Dear me…"_

_The Turk stared at him. _

"_Sir? Who and what exactly are you talking about?" Gast looked at him oddly._

"_Lucrecia, of course. She's agreed to marry Hojo." _


	7. Shattered Reflections

Chapter 7:

The scream immediately woke Vincent, the Gunslinger rising from the coffin in one fluid motion, Quicksilver held in his hand. Silently, he swiftly padded across the bar and up the steps, in the direction of the cry. Reaching the top of the stairs, he stopped dead.

Tifa knelt on the wooden flooring of the second floor, her face buried in her hands, tears leaking down her pale cheeks and splashing to the ground, her body wracked with sobs. Beside her, Cloud held her as she wept, softly stroking her raven hair and whispering shushing words into her ear, comforting her as best she could. In the far corner, Denzel and Marlene stood, hand in hand, looking on with the curiosity that so personified young ones. Tifa paid them no heed.

Vincent was the first to speak aloud.

"What happened?"

Tifa did not answer him; she was still crying, clutching to Cloud.

"Don't leave me… not again, Cloud. Not again…"

Cloud raised a haunted pair of eyes to meet Vincent's.

"She had a nightmare," he spoke quietly. "'thought I was going to leave again."

Vincent nodded once. He well understood the pain that Tifa went through, maintaining the bar and looking after the kids. She was a pillar of solitary strength, a star that continued to try and shine as bright as she could in a world of darkness and misery. She, not to mention Denzel and Marlene, needed Cloud's emotional support; over the past few years, Cloud had disappeared, sometimes for months at a time, wracked with grief and self loathing over the memory of Aeris. The rest of the AVALANCHE team, Vincent included, had done their level best to fill in the rift Cloud's absence had created, but the damage was already done.

They were a congregation of half-souls. A gallery of broken people that had seen too much, done too much, felt too much. A family of decrepit, haunted whispers who depended upon each other. Such was the sorrow of true heroism.

Swiftly, Vincent Valentine holstered his weapon, careful not to frighten Marlene and Denzel, and stepped past the huddled forms of Cloud and Tifa, and approached the two children who stared at their adoptive guardian with tears in their eyes, frightened to see Tifa in such a state. Silently, he lowered himself to one knee, resting his hands on each of their shoulders, surprised that Denzel did no flinch from the claw that rested on his body.

"Come on, children," he said quietly. "It's still early. Let's get you both back to bed."

Marlene's large, innocent eyes gazed into his.

"Is Tifa okay?"

Vincent reached his human hand across to stroke Marlene's cheek affectionately.

"She's going to be fine…" he trailed off, thinking of Tifa's nickname for Marlene, "…sweetie. Cloud isn't going to leave again, are you, Cloud?" With a turn of his head, the Gunslinger sent a crimson glare at the Swordsman, who smiled as gently as he could at the kids.

"…Yeah. I'm here to stay this time."

Vincent turned to face the two again.

"See? Everything is… all right."

Denzel looked from Cloud to Vincent, and nodded.

"Okay."

"Come now," Vincent gave them a little push, as gently as he could, towards their bedroom. "Back to bed."

Little Marlene turned and grabbed his claw, tugging him with them.

"Tuck us in, Uncle Vincent!"

Vincent Valentine winced involuntarily at the title before putting on as gentle a smile as he could manage, awkwardly walking into the kids' room with his hands around the two. Suppressing a smile, he lifted the covers as Marlene gazed up at him expectantly, allowing her to climb into the bed before doing the same for Denzel, sitting in the gap between the two beds and looking at the two children.

Children. They were a wonder to him. Vincent Valentine had led a bitter, sorrowful existence, ever distrustful of the race he was a part of, of the race of humans. They were, as his experience and heart told him, inherently good, but were born capable of terrible things. During his long existence, Vincent had seen humans murder, steal, rape, kill, and perform atrocities day after day.

He was once a killer, too. He still was.

But children; they symbolized innocence to the vampiric Gunslinger. He looked upon Denzel and Marlene with unabashed curiosity as they squirmed in their beds, easing into comfortable positions in which they would sleep. He had once asked Marlene, out of genuine puzzlement, why she would shift positions countless times before actually going to sleep, only to have the little girl stare at him with a giggle and reply that if she slept in the wrong position the monsters under her bed would know she was asleep and attempt to devour her.

Needless to say, this had befuddled Vincent. What monsters? Of course, this had led to Marlene demanding that he search under her bed for 'scary things' that lurked beneath her at night. Bemused, the Gunslinger had done as she requested, remaining in the room with her until she had dozed off.

With a start, Valentine realized that the two children were indeed asleep, and, with a slow blink of his crimson eyes, he silently exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Tifa and Cloud remained at their place on the floor, Tifa having fallen asleep too in Cloud's arms. With a sorrowful, remorseful look at Vincent, Cloud gently scooped the woman into his arms and walked into her room, quietly closing the door behind them with a sweep of his booted feet. Vincent quietly returned to his room, climbing into the wooden coffin again.

Helplessness. That was what was bothering him, he decided. Vincent Valentine, former Turk, AVALANCHE member, had experienced his own fair share of loneliness and solitude; in fact, he had experienced more than most. Due to his nature, his appearance, and the cold, enigmatic front he wore, it was little surprise that most avoided him. However, Vincent had never really known true helplessness until he had met Lucrecia, and _that_ had ended when she had died.

So why did he feel so helpless now?

Perhaps he _had_ gotten too attached to the other heroes of the Jenova War. So attached that he felt helpless at his inability to do something whilst the others broke around him. Vincent Valentine was, himself, a broken soul.

_Helplessness._

_Yes, that was it._

_That was what plagued the mind of Vincent Valentine at every waking moment._

_The room was dark. Fast food delivery wrappers lay strewn across the tables and floor, empty bottles of beer lazily disposed on the couch. The curtains, heavy, black, were drawn shut, seizing and repelling the dim shafts of stagnant moonlight that flickered through the thick clouds that hung over Midgar. _

_A pair of dull, bleary crimson eyes, bloodshot with lack of sleep and haunted with fatigue gazed impassively from a corner of the room, strands of raven hair hanging dormant on a pale cheek. _

_Vincent Valentine sat hunched with his back to the wall in the shadows of his apartment's living room, his head bowed, eyes boring aimlessly into the carpeted floor. He wore the same uniform that he had the last time he went to the lab, but the buttons were open, the collar raised, the cuffs untidily unfolded. _

_It was unusual, some would have noted, that Vincent be in such a state. He was meticulously tidy and proper, and hardly drank any alcohol save from social occasions. The Turk was renowned for his dislike of disorder, be it at the workplace or at home._

_But Vincent didn't care._

_The crimson eyes blinked once as a strobe of light flickered through the dark curtains, and, unsteadily, he rose to his feet, shuffling across the room to the window, peering through the glass as he brushed the material to the side._

_It was raining._

_Vincent Valentine hated the rain._

_He __**HATED **__it. _

_With an exhale of irritation, the Turk turned away from the curtains, and, with an impassive eye, examined the state of his quarters emotionlessly. Orderless. Messy. Untidy._

_Lucrecia would have laughed at hi-_

_Lucrecia…_

_Valentine grimaced as he felt a familiar pain in his chest, just where his heart was, felt the sorrow rising up in him, and did his best to try and crush it down, to break it, to make it go away._

_As always, it didn't work. But he tried nonetheless._

_He fell onto the couch, sending the clutter of bottles clinking and rolling, and buried his face in his hands. Why did he feel like this? How could he feel like this?_

…_How could Lucrecia marry Hojo..?_

_The denial rose in Vincent again, and this time he didn't bother trying to hold it in. In one alarming, fluid movement, he seized one of the bottles and hurled it with all his strength at the television set in front of him, a snarl of hurt on his lips. The screen shattered, and Vincent's dim, distorted reflection fragmented, shards of glass exploding in all directions. The Turk swore at his lack of self-control and laid back again._

_He remembered the events of the previous week as if it had been yesterday, as if it had been only minutes ago. He remembered the scent of her hair, the smoothness of her skin, the glaze in her eyes, the sweetness of her lips. Her bare legs straddling him as she kissed him, her hands buried in his hair. The delicious feel of his skin upon hers as he trailed his fingers up the expanse of her slender back._

_Just as Vincent was about to lose control again, the door buzzer, its tone nasal and buzzing, went off._

_Rubbing a hand across his bleary eyes, the Turk rose to his feet and unsteadily stumbled over the door, remembering only after several tries to unlatch the chain lock before opening the door._

_It was Sadie, one of his old friends from the Turks, dressed in the female counterpart of Vincent's uniform. She didn't even give him time to speak._

"_Where the _hell_ have you be-" _

_The female Turk's voice trailed off abruptly as she took in Vincent's physical appearance, her mouth hanging slack as she took an involuntary step backwards._

"_What do you want, Sadie?" Vincent Valentine's voice was haggard, weary._

"_Vincent… you…"_

_The crimson eyes blinked slowly._

"…_you look like shit. What's going on with you?"_

_Vincent was confused, if only slightly. "What do you mean?"_

"_Vincent. You haven't reported in for a full week. Hojo's been making enquiries."_

_The Turk blinked again. He hadn't realized it had been so long._

"_Never mind that… what's wrong with you? You look like you haven't slept in days; your uniform is actually _scruffy_ for once, and," Sadie wrinkled her nose, "you reek of alcohol. What the hell, Vincent?"_

_Vincent's voice was dull, emotionless. "Give the President my apologies. I'll be in tomorrow." He moved to close the door._

_Sadie gave a slow nod, but remained staring at him. She looked uncertain._

"_Vince…" he HATED that nickname, ever since she'd given it to him on their first duo assignment, "...you need to talk about anything?"_

"_About what?"_

"_About where the hell you've _been_ these past few days! About why you're stoned and drunk! You're never like this… Miss Lucrecia's been trying to call, but she says your phone is always off. She's worried about you, Vincent."_

_The Turk did his level best not to snort._

"_I'm fine, Sadie. But thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."_

_With a final uncertain nod, the female Turk turned away from the door, and Vincent gratefully closed it._

_He crossed over to the ruined TV screen, staring sadly at his warped reflection._

"_Lucrecia…" he whispered softly. "Why..?"_

_The television was not going to offer him any answers; silently, Vincent Valentine turned to the couch and slumped himself across it, allowing the dizzying haze of the alcohol to claim him, falling into a deep, haunted sleep._

_Vincent Valentine walked silently into the laboratory the next day, his hair washed and his clothes new and pressed. His crimson eyes were blank and emotionless, but somehow they were colder, harder. _

_Lucrecia looked up from her computer, her honey brown eyes wide and filled with concern. Vincent walked directly to her._

"_Lucrecia…" he said quietly, "I apologize for my absence for the past week. I… have no excuse."_

_The scientist blinked at his lack of emotion before giving a quick nod, her cheeks flushing. "That's quite all right, Vincent. Is everything okay?"_

_The Turk struggled to maintain his calm demeanor. _

"_Everything is just fine, ma'am."_

_She was acting differently, Vincent thought._

_He stood at his usual position by the window, shaking his head at the awful weather of late, doing his level best to ignore the constant glances and sidelong looks that Lucrecia was stealthily giving him, remaining silent and cold. Inside, his heart burnt with desire; he just wanted to stalk across the room, sweep her into his arms, and proceed to kiss her senseless._

_He couldn't. But he COULD conceal the fact that he wanted to._

_The Turk slowly shook his head in disbelief at his own feelings, filled with a mixture of self-loathing and confusion. How had things turned out to be like this? He had never had such feelings before; how had he lost his control? What was it about Lucrecia that made him simply want to hold her, to feel her slim, slender frame in his arms? What was it about her eyes that made him feel weak at the knees?_

_This was a serious problem._

"_So… I suppose Professor Gast told you then…"_

_With a start, he realized that Lucrecia had walked up beside him whilst he had been thinking, and now stood watching his impassive face. He didn't move._

"_Yes, just after he left." Vincent Valentine said simply, his eyes not once leaving their vigil of the rain outside the window. "Congratulations, Miss Lucrecia."_

_Lucrecia gave a reluctant, hesitant nod, continuing to watch his face for any expression. Vincent did not speak. His features remained blank._

"_Vincent… I-I'm… um…"_

_The crimson eyes finally met hers._

"_Lucrecia…" Vincent said quietly. It's all right." How he longed to hold her…_

"_We'll just pretend like nothing ever happened… it's not like anyone else would know, right?"_

_Vincent felt another surge of hurt rise in his heart, and swallowed. Lucrecia continued._

"_I mean… it was just a m-mistake, right?"_

_Vincent Valentine could not hold back any longer._

"_A mi- a mistake?" he said quietly, his eyes filled with hurt as he looked at her. She nodded mutely, her eyes filled with shame._

_Vincent nearly choked. "Yes… you are right. Just a mistake." His forced his voice to become cold, emotionless again. "I apologize."_

_She looked hurt at his apparent lack of emotion. Good. With a nod, her eyes downcast, she turned and walked back to her computer._

_Vincent Valentine turned to face the window, seeing his reflection again. Droplets of rainwater struck the glass, seeping and sliding down the surface, leaving a trail of liquid in its wake. A raindrop struck the reflection of Vincent's face, just under his left eye, and trailed down the glass, making it seem as if the Turk were crying._

_Carefully, Vincent raised a hand to his cheek as he felt a real tear seep down his skin with a small measure of surprise._

_He _was_ crying._


	8. Daring to Hope

The sound of the gun firing seemed deafening in the chamber, echoing off the walls and bouncing from floor to ceiling in a desperate attempt to get out

_The sound of the gun firing seemed deafening in the chamber, echoing off the walls and bouncing from floor to ceiling in a desperate attempt to get out. Instantly, there came a loud, flat thudding sound as the bullet hit its mark in the plywood target board on the far wall, sending flecks of dust and wood shavings skittering in all directions._

_Again. Another shot rang out, clear and impossibly loud through the air, followed by another, and another, the screams of the gun's firing mechanism building up to a deafening crescendo. _

_The recoil of the constant stream of shots left Vincent Valentine's hand aching, but the Turk showed no outward signs of discomfort, squeezing the trigger again and again in precisely timed intervals, keeping up a constant cycle of bullets flying at his targets. Every squeeze of the trigger, every bullet fired, resulted in a clean, blindingly accurate hit on the center-skull marker on the corresponding target mannequin board. The Turk swiftly reloaded his weapon in one fluid movement before resuming his swift, punishing routine. _

_After the hammer clicked on Quicksilver for the seventh time, Valentine carefully reloaded the weapon before leaving the firing range, walking swiftly into the adjoining chamber; the simulation room. Accessing the terminal on the wall beside the entrance, he punched in a request for the highest level simulation run, drawing Quicksilver and checking the clip slotted into the gun._

_With a dull humming noise, the spotlights in the antechamber dimmed, plunging the room into barely perceptible shadow, bathing Vincent in darkness. The weather-effect simulation system came into play, and water began to fall from the outlets in the ceiling pores, increasing until it was a steady downpour of rain. Panels slid open at various places in the vast chamber. Pillars slid through, walls shifted positions, and portions of the floors sunk to create a gargantuan honeycomb of trench systems, walls, debris, and walkways. The ominous, threatening red of the signal light bars on the walls flicked to an affirmative green, and a nasal buzzing noise signaled the beginning of the simulation run. _

_Immediately, Vincent heard a hissing noise to the right as a panel in the wall slid open, revealing a large group of simulation assassin droids armed with a variety of effective weapons. Several tones from various portions of the room signified other such groups of Shinra training bots powering up and entering the field. The leader of the group, its bright, harsh photoreceptors glaring from its narrow skull, raised its SMG, aiming sensors focusing on Vincent's form before opening fire, hundreds of AP shells erupting from the weapon's barrels in a split second._

_But Valentine was already moving, diving headlong out of sight as the tracer fire stitched across the floor where he had been standing milliseconds ago; he turned his dive into a roll that brought him fluidly to his feet. Instantly, he twisted round, his gun loaded and aimed, firing once in a single, precise shot that took off the head of the training robot. Before it hit the floor, the Turk was moving again, his legs pumping as he sprinted across the simulation room floor, his body twisting and ducking as he weaved through the streams of fire and shots that tracked him as he moved. _

_Vincent didn't allow anything to materialize in his mind, focusing his entire being on his movements, his keen ears listening to nothing save the whistling of the bullets as they sped through the air. His body moved as if by its own accord, fingers pulling the trigger, legs, sprinting, torso twisting, water dripping from his soaked hair into his eyes as he systematically eliminated training bot after bot, never stopping for rest. _

_As a cluster of droids surrounded him, the Turk calmly reached to his hip and drew another gun identical to the one in his hand, spinning in a rodeo whilst letting off a steady stream of bullets. He felt waves of his anger, his sorrow, his pain fuelling him as he moved faster and faster, allowing the powerful emotions to guide his movements, his teeth baring in a snarl as he reloaded his weapons and resumed firing._

_Vincent was promptly shaken from his blood rage as a grip, stiff and mechanical, clamped around his left arm, twisting it painfully and spinning him to the floor, driving the air from his lungs. He looked up to see the unblinking glare of a droid's photoreceptors, just as it lifted its right leg to finish Vincent in a classic combat move, but the Turk was faster. Rotating his hips, he swept his legs in an arc that knocked the bot's feet out from underneath it, sending it crashing to the floor. Vincent flipped to his feet, reaching for his guns, only to pause in momentary surprise as he hands groped over his empty holsters. A quick glance behind him confirmed the sight of his weapons lying discarded where he had dropped them. _

_With a surge of hydraulic limbs, the simulator robot rose to its feet._

_The Shinra Automated Combat Simulation Program Droid Mark XIV was a top of the line, lethal creation by itself. Equipped with two APMC submachine guns, an inbuilt Rocket Propelled Grenade Launcher, along with several retractable combat knives and a shoulder-mounted retractable DEMO-X P1 Demolitions Device, facing off with one, let alone fifty, was almost unheard of to most Shinra fighting corps. Each droid had inbuilt top of the line combat and tactic programs, and their photoreceptors could cycle through each plane of the electromagnetic spectrum. When combined with its considerable array of weapons, enhanced speed and hydraulics, along with a tough outer shelling of adamantium alloy, it became a fearsome and versatile opponent. Ranged combat with one was the most common, and exceedingly difficult method to destroy one. Only the Turks and the warriors of the SOLDIER program stood any chance of besting them. Fortunately, the cost of production involved in the creation of these superbots was too high to be practical, and seeing a genuine make on the battlefield was an extremely rare occurrence._

_Hand to hand combat with one, however, was almost completely unheard of._

_Vincent Valentine dropped into a classic combat stance as he and the droid circled, before his adversary charged him. A retractable blade materialized into its hand, and Vincent was barely able to bring his combat knife up in time to parry, the impact sending sparks dancing around them. With a grunt, he broke free of the bladelock and initiated a lightning-fast series of slashes, kicks, and punches. The droid matched him, move for move, before counterattacking, but Vincent's trained reflexes allowed him to block and break._

_He dashed forward and vaulted over its shoulder, driving his blade into the neck joint of the bot, punching through the armor of the weak point, but grunted in pain as droid brought its leg around in a snapkick that snapped Vincent's head to the side. Another swift blow to the stomach, and Vincent was on his knees._

_He looked up just to see the blade swinging at his neck and ducked just in time, feeling the onrush of air as the lethal edge swept harmlessly over hid head. With a snarl, Vincent plunged his own knife into the torso of the droid, watching in satisfaction as it staggered backwards, malfunctioning, before the water from the sprinklers short-circuited its systems._

_As the training bot collapsed, the training lights dimmed and Vincent rose to his feet, shaking water from his hair and enjoying the blissful aching of his muscles, an ache that told of a body that had gone too long without such exercise. The slender Turk glided over to the mirror in the changing rooms and took a moment to scrutinize his reflection._

_A pair of dead, emotionless eyes gazed back at him. _

_Vincent's face was deathly pale, his lips pallid and colorless, his hair a surrealistic contrast to his skin color. Heavy, prominent bags hung under his crimson eyes, tinged dark with the shadows of sleepless nights, whispering promises of fatigue and weariness. To Vincent Valentine, he looked dead._

_Good._

_With an abrupt spin of his heel, the Turk turned and walked away from the changing rooms, walking back to his apartment, satisfied after a good day's training, ready to drown himself in alcohol once more._

_She had married him._

_Lucrecia had married Hojo. And Vincent Valentine, along with various other prominent Shinra Staff, had been invited, invited to this holy, romantic congregation of unity that had taken place just the three weeks previously._

_Vincent had toyed with the notion of ignoring Lucrecia's invitation, to simply remain away and alone, but, after several hours debating, had decided against it. Such behavior was childish, immature, and selfish, and would only amplify his true feelings; Vincent had flattered himself by believing he was above stooping to such levels. And so, the Turk, clad in a brand new, expensive black suit, which he told himself he had _not_ bought to impress Lucrecia, had attended his angel's wedding._

_And it had been hideous._

_Vincent had loathed every moment of it, despised every loving, adoring glance that Lucrecia and Hojo had shared. He reviled the look pasted upon the male scientist's face throughout the matrimony; to everyone else, Hojo must have seemed radiant, smiling with unabashed pleasure and joy, but to Vincent, Hojo had been gloating, leering, despicably triumphant as he gazed upon his beautiful bride. Vincent had been disgusted with the looks of supportive pride and applause from the betrothed's friends and family, not to mention all those present. The only thing throughout the entire ceremony that had not filled him with bitter loathing was Lucrecia._

_She had been simply radiant._

_Dressed in a flowing white gown, her lovely hair held up in an even more extravagant style, her soulful, liquid eyes alight with unspoken happiness, she had instantly enchanted everyone present; even Vincent, whom was trying to subtly sulk in a corner at the time, had been unable to stifle a gasp of wonder when he had seen her, his eyes glazed over until he had realized that she was not being beautiful for him. She had looked akin to an angel, more so than ever before, lovely, pristine._

_But not for him._

_Vincent Valentine's lips burned, burned for hers again. His body felt cold, alone, a bitter, solitary shell that awaited its high once more, the one thing it needed. His eyes felt weary and sunken, missing her sight. He had been pathetic at her wedding, shuffling forward on unsteady feet to mumble out his congratulations, his head bowed, determined not to look at her or Hojo, his eyes burning with barely suppressed tears of shame, rage, and jealousy._

_Jealousy._

_The word felt alien and abhorrent to Vincent. Jealousy. He was meant to be above such things, such petty, irresponsible emotions. _

_And yet, he was jealous. His heart burnt with resentful envy whenever he thought or looked at Hojo._

_Vincent had left the wedding early, when Lucrecia had been surrounded by female friends squealing their congratulations, and wandered around the streets in a stupor before stumbling into some unknown bar, throwing a thick wad of gil on the table and quietly asking for the stiffest drink the bartender could think of. The night had gone by slowly, with Vincent drinking without ceasing for a good three hours, silently weeping, silently screaming within his mind. By the time the bartender had thrown him out, it was two in the morning and there was a lovely little tower of empty glasses and bottles beside him. The Turk, barely able to move, had somehow stumbled his way home, reeking of alcohol, his eyes wild, his hair matted and frayed. Even the frequent muggers who patrolled the area looking for prey had given him a wide berth. _

_By the time the Turk had reached his apartment, he was barely conscious, dizzy, and slightly deranged. He had collapsed in a huddle in the middle of the living room floor, curling up, fetal, into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, his breaths rapid and sobbing. It was then, hidden in the safety of the shadows, segregated from society and isolated from the world in the familiar solitude of his apartment, Vincent Valentine had cried. _

_He had wept unashamedly, like a child, tears leaking from his sore, haggard eyes and soaking his clothes and hair and rug, his body shaking with bitter sobs that were filled with rage and sorrow, his cries echoing throughout the small apartment. He had cried until he didn't think until he could cry anymore, until he told himself that he didn't want to anymore, but he couldn't stop because he needed to. His emotions, bitter, suppressed, overwhelmed with pain and sorrow, radiated from him in harsh, astringent waves, punctuated with his gasping sobs._

_Vincent had remained curled, motionless, lifeless, on the floor, his face empty, trails of tears seeping down his pale cheeks, his hair hanging in front of his eyes, huddled up, vulnerable, shielded only by the shadows. He neither moved nor responded in any way to the chilling, freezing temperature of the room and the harsh winter. He had not responded to the loud, flat tone of his cell phone signifying a text message._

_Vincent Valentine was broken._

_Only when a thin shaft of light, shining through the gap between the pitch black curtains that shielded every window in his apartment, splashed upon his face had he awoken to a sharp, splitting headache, his face dead and empty. He had reached with a lifeless hand to his phone, opening the message that he had received._

_**Lucrecia**_

_Where are you?_

_The sound of the phone shattering as he threw it against the wall had seemed deafening._

_That had been three weeks ago._

_Now, Vincent Valentine was determined to forget. He was determined to forget Lucrecia, to forget his feelings, his emotions, his pain. He was determined to forget anything that had ever passed between himself, Hojo, and Lucrecia, determined to simply have a business relationship. And most of all, Vincent was determined not to _feel

_Vincent Valentine was empty._

The bar was in one of the most busiest times as Vincent had ever remembered it, the crimson-cloaked Gunslinger faltering for a moment in slight confusion as he emerged from the bare confines of his room, shaking droplets of fluid from his sable ebony hair left over from his morning shower.

Lounging on the edge of a table, her legs swinging to and fro absently as her fingers moved furiously over the keys of her phone, Yuffie hummed a lively, upbeat tune, her brow wrinkled in concentration, her eyes unwavering and focused intently on the screen. Beside her, seated at the table with his booted feet on the table, Cid slouched lazily against the chair behind him, one of his trademark cigarettes twirling deftly between his dexterous fingers as he watched Yuffie with an exasperated glance. Vincent had no doubt that he was about to release a stream of foul words at the incessantly hyperactive teenager, but a gentle caress of his arm from Shera calmed him down. In the middle of the bar, Denzel and Marlene chased each other around in a circle, laughing hysterically in a game that only they could understand.

Sitting stiff and at attention at a table in the corner, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands, Shelke gazed out of one of the bar's many windows with that characteristically serious, guarded look on her face, her left hand buried and gently scratching in the flaming fur of Red XIII, who slumbered fitfully at her feet under the table, still enjoying the last vestiges of his sleep. The room was filled with the sounds of voices as the room's inhabitants casually conversed with one another.

It was a sight that brought a slight, barely perceptible smile to the face of Vincent Valentine. A sight that caused a warm feeling to blossom within whatever was left of his heart. With a low chuckle, the Gunslinger crossed to the vacant chair opposite Shelke and settled into it, the monstrous golden claw resting upon the lacquered table.

Shelke's blue eyes met his before she spoke in that disconcerting monotone of hers.

"Good morning, Vincent Valentine."

"Good morning, Shelke." Vincent's answering nod was filled with the closest thing to affection. Shelke Rui, sibling of Shalua Rui, was the closest thing Vincent had to a little sister. Taken from her loving older sister when she was nine years old by Deepground conscripts, Shelke had gone through a decade of a hell far worse than any child or normal person could ever imagine; a decade of torture, abuse, genetic experimentation, a decade filled with traumatized horror and death. When she had finally emerged from the darkness beneath Midgar, Shelke had been reborn a member of the Elite Deepground; the Tsviets. Her body, irreparably damaged by the sadistic experimentations of the Shinra scientists, remained that of a ten year old, crucially dependant on Mako. Without her daily dose of Mako, Shelke's physical body would simply rot away within a day. However, the atrocities performed on her were not without their benefits; Shelke was able to move with incredible swiftness, and was blessed with a keen sense of battle precognition. She could anticipate the movements of her foes with unnerving clarity, and her speed with her laser-lances was lethal.

Shelke had served the Deepground with unquestioning devotion, still a naïve, innocent child at heart. This nearly proved to be her demise when Azul the Cerulean of the Tsviets had gleefully informed her of him being granted the duty of her execution as she was no longer of any use. Invincible in his demonic form, Vincent and Shalua had been helpless to stop Azul, and they had only saved Shelke through Shalua's sacrifice. This turn of events had affected and changed Shelke deeply; from then on, she had only given her allegiance and care to her friends, and, slowly, through their care and patience, she had begun to live the life once taken from her. Vincent had made a personal vow to himself to take care of Shelke in honor of Shalua's memory.

Shelke and Vincent's moment was broken at the sound of footsteps descending down the wooden stairs as Tifa and Cloud made their way towards breakfast. Tifa looked far healthier than she had the previous night; showered and dressed, she looked as cheerful and optimistic as always, swooping down to hug the children as she greeted them. Cloud, on the other hand, looked as somber as always, his perpetually downcast face serious as he nodded to the others present.

"So, Teef, you feeling better today?" Yuffie's irritatingly cheerful voice broke the silence as she set the phone down on the table, a large, bold '**PAUSED**' evident on the screen. Tifa gave a shy little nod as she gazed at the floor, ashamed.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry to scare you all last night… I guess I just had a bad dream." Cid cocked his head to one side, clearly confused.

"What the hell are ya talkin' about, missy? I didn't hear nothin' last-_ow!_" The pilot stared incredulously at his wife, whom proceeded to smile sweetly at him. "… Y-yeah, glad everything's okay."

Vincent raised an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong, Cid?" The pilot gave a very forced grin.

"Naw, just stubbed my toe."

Shaking his head, the Gunslinger turned to look at Cloud, who met his eyes with a purposeful look.

With a slight twinge of guilty surprise, Vincent noticed for the first time how truly haggard Cloud looked. The usual bags under his eyelids were larger and darker than ever, shadows dancing across his visage. His hair seemed duller, as if somehow it had lost its golden shine. His icy, Mako blue-green eyes, usually so intense, seemed less vivid, less pronounced. The Gunslinger sighed quietly. It should have been obvious to him; the subject of last night's conversation weighed heavily on Cloud's mind. With a slight shake of his head, Cloud turned towards Marlene, who was offering him a cup of coffee that she had obviously made herself; the sheepish, warning look on Tifa's face was evidence enough of that. With a look vaguely resembling that of hesitation, Cloud forced a slight smile and took the cup. Their conversation would have to be continued later.

"Oh, Vincent?"

The Gunslinger looked up. Tifa was bustling around the stove with a frying pan and pancake batter. "Yes?"

"Reno called today. He says he has work for someone-I figured maybe you'd like something to do?"

Cloud abruptly rose from the chair he had just sunk into. "I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He nodded to Tifa. "I need some time to think anyways." The bartender watched the Swordsman as he withdrew his keys from the hook by the counter and left the bar, the steady beat of his footfalls diminishing in sound as the door lazily swung shut behind him.

Vincent Valentine remained motionless at his position, deep in thought.

_Is it possible..? To return the dead to life?_ The gunslinger looked downwards and observed his gloved hand and claw musingly, considering the implications of such a notion for the first time. When Cloud had mentioned his discovery and plan, as hasty and reckless as a plan could be, all Vincent had thought of was the low possibility of the theory being sound. The notion of bringing what had passed beyond this world was preposterous, after all. It was impossible for the dead to return to the world of the living, was it not?

_But what am I if not but a corpse?_

Vincent Valentine did not count himself amongst the living-he was, after all, clinically dead. His body no longer functioned as that of a living body; his skin was the pallor of a cadaver, his flesh without any measure of warmth. After Hojo had murdered him, Vincent was certainly not counted amongst the living.

The dead were supposed to exist in a realm beyond that of the living. It was nature. Inevitability. Inescapable. And yet, here Vincent was. He was genuine proof that it _was_ possible for the dead to return to the realm of the living.

Silently, unnoticeably, Vincent Valentine allowed a himself to explore a notion he had long buried away beneath his mental barriers and self-discipline, a notion that he had long ago forced himself to forget, lest he fall into even further into his spiral of melancholy and remorse.

_Would it... be possible to bring Lucrecia back?_


	9. A Revelation So Cruel

He loved the woods.

Vincent Valentine sprinted swiftly through the forest around Healin Lodge, his gaze unblinking and steady. A world of trees and streams flew past him at an alarming rate, twigs and leaves crackling ever so slightly under his tread. His feet barely touched the ground, his footfalls making slight, soft contact with the soil, leaving whispers and hisses in his wake. For all his endeavors, the Gunslinger showed no signs of fatigue or exertion, his breathing steady and unhindered. It was a quiet day, the serenity and darkness of the forest unblemished by the light of the sun; such was the density of the foliage and canopy above him.

The Gunslinger took a slight moment to note how at ease he felt within the darkness of the woods. There was just something about the tranquility, the peace of nature taking its basic course blissfully undisturbed by mankind or foreign presences that he enjoyed, the crisp, dry leaves falling around him as they were carried by a caressing draft of cool, autumn air.

Sensing a group of presences ahead, Vincent slowed his pace to a slow, steady stride, allowing his sable, onyx locks to fall gently in front of his crimson pupils and settle against the glacial expanse that was his skin.

A trio of figures stood waiting in the forest clearing that was the designated meeting place, garbed in a display of expensive, formal designer suits that was the official uniform of the Turks, and Vincent Valentine allowed himself a brief flicker of nostalgia as he gazed upon their attire, his memories of his own time within identical vestments playing throughout his mind.

The Turks rose their heads as one as he emerged from beckoning shadows of the trees, their gazes steady and unblinking. There was a moment of silence that a stranger would have taken to be a standoff as Vincent Valentine stood, motionless and imposing, a silent protagonist to an audience of three as dead leaves cascaded around him in a spiraling curtain falling upon a stage of soil and ancient oak.

At the head of the trio stood a young, slender man, his posture slouched into a more comfortable posture. A pair of lazy-looking eyes gazed at Vincent from beneath a positive nest of messy red hair, lips curved up in a casual smirk of recognition.

Reno, Vincent noted with no small amount of distaste, was as unkempt and lazy as ever.

"Yo, Valentine."

The Gunslinger graced him with a cold, stiff nod.

"Reno."

Flanking Reno stood a pair of Turks, but the only thing that they shared in common were their outfits and stiff, formal postures. To his right stood a tall, dark-skinned man, a pair of reflective sunglasses obscuring his eyes. His body was thickly muscled and in perfect physical condition, towering over his flame-maned companion, and his eyebrows were furrowed in a perpetual frown. He spared Vincent a silent nod, and the Gunslinger acted in kind. Rude was one of the few employees of ShinRa that Vincent Valentine had a grudging respect for.

And to Reno's left, the final member of ShinRa's entourage. A slim, willowy young woman who looked slightly uneasy, as if unsure of how to react, glanced at Reno before returning her gaze to Vincent. Elena was usually as strict and staunch as one could be, but the Gunslinger knew precisely why she seemed to be so flustered in his presence.

Two years before, when Kadaj, Yazoo, Loz had made their foray into the world of Gaia intent on resurrecting Sephiroth by their Reunion, one of their first victims had been a pair of Turks that they had crossed blades with; Tseng, and Elena. Easily outmatched by the trio whom all possessed different aspects of the unstoppable powers that were possessed by Sephiroth, the Turks had been badly mauled and kept as unfortunate and unwilling guests by the Remnants. Torture had been a gift that the three had blessed Tseng and Elena with.

Torture, and, Vincent supposed coldly, several other delights, especially in Elena's case.

The Turks would have undoubtedly died had Vincent Valentine not intervened. The former Turk still retained his unparalleled skill at infiltration and covert tactics, and had been alerted to the Remnants early and intervened. Of the entire AVALANCHE team, Vincent Valentine was probably the only one skilled enough to take on all three of the Remnants at once, and he had swiftly incapacitated Loz and held his own against both Yazoo and Kadaj before liberating the broken, barely conscious forms of the Turks and escaping. Ever since this incident, both Tseng and Elena had been uncomfortable around Vincent, evidently uncertain as to whether they should express their professional contempt for any non-Shinra personnel, or relent and show their more personal gratitude to the vampiric Gunslinger for his part in saving their lives.

"Mr. Valentine." She finally said, clearing her throat and appearing to have a sudden interest in her feet.

"Why have you summoned me here?" Valentine inquired coldly. Despite their supposedly good intentions, Vincent found it difficult to endear himself with any of the Turks, or Rufus ShinRa for that matter. Their actions in hindering the AVALANCHE team on their quest to save the world hadn't elevated them in Vincent's eyes. But still, they had somewhat redeemed themselves in their efforts to combat the Remnants as well as defending the citizens of Gaia against Deepground and thus, Vincent was careful to treat them with an attitude marginally more cordially than hostile.

"The Boss has a favor to ask from you," Reno replied. "I guess it's a little bit bigger than just a problem, otherwise he'd probably have gotten us to take care of it."

"I'm listening."

"It seems that another small contingent of Deepground soldiers managed to get away from us. We picked up reports from the Icicle Inn and Bone Village that they're harassing the townspeople there."

"So far, the damage has been… minimal," Elena cut in, "but they've begun to use some battle machines and material, and the local WRO garrison are growing concerned. Something needs to be done."

Vincent appraised them coldly. "Reeve hasn't said anything. I would have expected him to report on something like this."

Elena looked distinctly uncomfortable. "President ShinRa assured him that we would take care of the issue..."

"But?"

"Well, there are too many of them for us to deal with alone. The President decided to request aid from Mr. Strife and AVALANCE."

Vincent Valentine frowned as he absorbed her words. Over the previous few months after the Deepground crisis, small pockets of surviving Deepground soldiers had made appearances all over Gaia, creating discord wherever they went. True to their word, the Turks had dealt with the majority of these disturbances, and AVALANCE had dispatched any Deepground remnants they had encountered, but it was rare and troubling to hear that a contingent had emerged that was too large for the Turks to comfortably deal with.

"Very well. I accept his request on behalf of AVALANCHE. What do you have planned?"

Looking relieved, Elena glanced at Reno.

"Well, a Deepground soldier that we managed to capture and… uh, _question_ gave us the location of their hideout. It's just south of the Northern Crater, somewhere in the mountains-so we hop in, make some noise, and bust out. You cool with that?"

Elena and Rude looked sickened at Reno's casual and crude description of what had obviously been a carefully planned scenario. For his part, Vincent gave a quiet nod.

"I will inform Cloud and the others. When do you intend to strike?"

Rude's voice sounded for the first time during the meeting.

"Within a week."

* * *

Vincent found himself sprinting through the forest again, heading back to the Shera and Cid. Preparations and strategies had been finalized, and the Turks had agreed to grant the assistance of all four of the elite Turks-Reno, Rude, Elena, and Tseng-before peeling off into the darkness of the woods.

_Sounds exciting. Is this the kind of work you get up to nowadays?_

Vincent immediately halted as Lucrecia's melodic voice sounded within his mind, and stumbled to a stop as he felt a sheer, inexplicable surge of _relief_ and joy erupt within him.

"Lucrecia," he whispered softly, "you are back?"

_Yes. I'm sorry I left you with so many unanswered questions, but helping to maintain the flow of balance in the world is a little troublesome, even with all of the spirits contributing._

"May I ask you a question?"

_Of course-what is it?_

Vincent took an unusually long time to answer. "If you exist within the Lifestream… you aren't alive anymore, aren't you?"

There was a moment of silence, and he could just visualize her delicate, beautiful features etched into an expression of concentration as she chose her words carefully.

_I... My body is suspended within Mako crystals, as you already know… I guess I'm a little bit of both. Most of my spirit has merged with the Lifestream, but I think a small part of me still clings to life._

Encouraged by her answer, the Gunslinger quietly asked the question he had been wondering for so long.

"If you still exist in life… then…" He trailed off, his mouth suddenly drying, his voice rasping as it involuntarily caught in his throat. "Then… is it possible for you to… return to life?"

There was an instant silence, both in the world of the living and within Valentine's mind. His body was tensed, his eyes closed tightly. For the first time in years, the Gunslinger's heart, or what remained of it, raced with a desperation, an urgency, that was so unfamiliar and forgotten to him that the sensation nearly doubled him over.

A lifetime of longing and suffering twitched and pulsed, blooming like a twisted, pitifully withered flower within his heart.

_Vincent… I… I don't think that I could. My soul-or whatever is left of it-is part of the Lifestream now. As much as I love you, my place is here… do you understand?_

The Gunslinger nearly buckled as he heard her words. To have hoped for so long, to have wished and yearned and longed, and to finally have been given a miniscule whisper of success and to have it taken away…

The cruelty, the pain, was so unbearable that for a moment, he knew nothing but the deepest, darkest fury and anguish at the unjustness of it all.

For a moment, he wanted to shriek, to rage, to seize every living, breathing thing in the world that wasn't his with his hideous claw and torn, scarred fingers and squeeze, and tear, and scream his agony and frustration until the shrouded fragments of the clouds and the dying ebbing and flowing of the moaning waters could do nothing but shudder in tandem to the song of his sorrow.

But it was an old pain, an old agony, an old torment that had flirted with his decaying hopes and dreams, and Vincent Valentine somehow forced it down within the barriers of his heart.

"I see."

The trees bowed low in sympathy to the sadness of his voice.

_Vincent… I'm…_

_I'm…_

_I'm so sorry…_

_

* * *

_

_They are reduced to this._

_Scientist and bodyguard. _

_Vincent Valentine watches her as she enters the room with yet another volume from her capacious repertoire of scientific knowledge, settling into her seat with a weary, resigned sigh. Her eyes are downcast, dimmed, melancholic in a way that was so bitter to him that he nearly couldn't bear it. He watches quietly as she begins typing at her terminal, pausing every few moments to glance at a page or flip to the next. The very light seems to have been stolen from her skin, the brightness that was once shining sincerity, enthusiasm, and inspiration from her eyes now replaced by a brooding shadow that was but a microcosm of the true darkness that had made itself manifest in her mood._

_For his part, he remains silent. The previous few weeks, the previous few months, have been hard on him, difficult for him to understand and react. He satisfies himself with simply accepting things for the way they are, and is content to remain her bodyguard, allowing himself to be sated by the prospect that as long as he is around to protect her, no harm shall befall the woman he loves._

_Things are very different from what they once were several months ago. Sadness and resignation have become but daily routine for them both, and yet they still push on._

_The bitterness of rejection within him has faded, only to be replaced with something far worse; the unadulterated agony and refutation of unrequited love. Every passing day he gazes upon her with a longing and desperation, his arms aching to hold her again. _

_There is a knock at the door, and both of them start, Lucrecia rising from her seat even as the door opens to reveal Hojo, far too imperious and impatient to await proper permission to enter. _

"_Dr. Crescent. Where is the report that I requested from you on the development of subject nine?" _

_His voice is hostile and sarcastic, his face twisted in an ugly sneer that Vincent yearns to wipe off that repugnant, cruel visage. His eyes shine with nothing but contempt for his wife, who looks taken aback and broken as always at the severity of his manner, shrinking back as he continues to hurt her in a way that she never believed possible._

"_I-I'm sorry-that report hasn't been completed yet. The tests you ordered haven't been completed yet-"_

"_Must my genius continue to be stifled by your inadequacy?"_

_She looks bewildered. "I-Im sorry?"_

"_Your insufficiency and incapability are a constant issue that hampers my progress! Scientific _knowledge_, Dr. Crescent, and the expansion of such knowledge, is the sole key to the mastery of mankind and this world!"_

"_But, Hojo, we need more time-" She is cut off as her husband approaches, the few words that have left her lips enough to provoke the man she loved into an inexplicable fury. Immediately, Vincent stiffened, ready to intervene should the need arise._

"_Time? Time is a constant barrier, a hurdle to be overcome. Don't try to hide your failures and personal lack of aptitude on time, Crescent." Disregarding the obvious hurt that shines from her eyes, Hojo turns and stalks out of the room. "I expect that report by tomorrow."_

_Vincent relaxes, watching Lucrecia uneasily even as she remains standing at her previous position, her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill down her smooth, delicate cheeks. _

_The Turk simply looked away, his eyes downcast at yet another conversation between Lucrecia and Hojo. He could do nothing. He could say nothing. Ever since the events that had occurred between them._

_

* * *

_

"_Lucrecia!"_

_She turns and looks at him, her eyes alarmed and cautious. He has not spoken to her save when absolutely necessary for the previous few weeks after her marriage, and this sudden change in demeanor alarms her._

"_Wh-what is it?"_

_Vincent Valentine halts before her, his eyes wide and imploring, unusually so for him. His lips are dry; hastily, he wets them with his tongue, preparing himself to give the speech that he has been rehearsing for the previous week. Denial and cold indifference have been useless for him. He knows what he has to say, and he needs to say it now._

"_Lucrecia, I'm in love with you."_

_She is silent, shocked by the suddenness and force of his words, her eyes wide and disbelieving even as she stands there, obviously trying to think of what to say as he continues._

"_I'm sorry." His voice is low, interlaced with urgency and passion at once. "I know I shouldn't be. I know I can't be. But I am. I love you."_

_She still doesn't answer, silently staring at him as he watches her for a reaction, flustered and nervous, his entire body tensed and imploring._

"_I didn't mean to kiss you, but I wanted to. But I _know_ you kissed me back! I felt it!" The Turk swallows audibly, his next words catching slightly as he forces them past his lips. "And-and… I think you like me too."_

_He watches as she registers his speech, waiting desperately for the reply that he yearns to hear. The feeling of utter longing and desperation are completely alien to him, and a part of him is momentarily taken aback at the rashness and boldness of his actions, the irrationality of his feelings utterly bewildering to him._

_And still, the words he hears her say baffles him completely._

"_No, no, no, NO…"_

_He stares at her. "Lucrecia?"_

_She looks at him frantically. "This isn't supposed to happen! You can't love me!"_

_Vincent frowns in perplexity before taking a step forward, only to have her back away. He stops, seeing her almost hysterical, and slowly extends his hands. "Lucrecia, what's the matter?" _

_Something catches his eye._

_A picture. On her computer screen behind her._

_One that looks strangely familiar._

_Distracted, he frowns._

"_Is that… my father?" He ignores her feeble, half-hearted attempts to protest and walks to the computer screen, his eyes fixated on his father's portrait. "You-you worked with my father?"_

_Her voice is nearly inaudible. "Y-yes… I did."_

"_When?" He turns to face her again._

"_When we were… investigating the birthplace of Chaos."_

_He starts as a sudden question floods his mind._

"_How come-why did you never mention anything about this?"_

_She doesn't reply, her eyes filled with tears, and he steps towards her, gently clasping her shoulders with his hands. "Lucrecia? Why didn't you tell me?"_

_When she replies, it is an exclamation that is both a cry and a sob._

"_Because it's my fault he died!"_

_Silence._

_Vincent Valentine stares at Lucrecia, whom has fallen to her knees, droplets of liquid crystal cascading down her pale, delicate face and falling to the floor. Her body wracks with sobs, and it takes him a moment to react. Slowly, he kneels by her, and takes her body into his arms as she weeps bitterly into his shoulder. _

_There is nothing even slightly romantic or sexual about their touch, about their embrace. He simply waits until she recovers slightly, before speaking._

"_What do you know of my father's death?"_

"_It's my fault, Vincent."_

"_Tell me…" He locks her rowan gaze with a gentle yet intense stare of crimson. It takes a moment before she speaks, and when she does her voice is haunted and filled with a self-loathing that stuns him._

"_He was a scientist that was assigned along with me to investigate a cave that we discovered, deep within the mountains within a waterfall where we discovered the dormant, slumbering form of Chaos. He was the one who helped me recover Chaos and bring it back to the ShinRa mansion. We were partners; the Omega Project was a research that we both worked on." Lucrecia's head is bowed, tears streaming from her eyelids that Vincent gently wipes away as he waits for her to continue._

"_We made progress with Chaos, and managed to keep it stored within a Mako tank that we could monitor it from. Everything went fine, and we collected a repertoire of data that we never dreamed possible. I was so excited in my work, so eager to learn more. But Chaos awoke, and-and he attacked us."_

_Lucrecia raises her tearstained face to meet Vincent's gaze, and her eyes are filled with nothing but pain._

"_He-he saved me Vincent! He d-dove in the way and pushed me aside as Chaos' magic struck him! I had to watch as Grimoire faded away in front of my eyes, that-that _thing_ slowly eating away at him!" Lucrecia's next sentence is a wail of sheer, unadulterated wretchedness. "I couldn't do anything-he died because of _me_!"_

_Vincent Valentine does nothing but hold her, his eyes wide at the revelation he has just heard. He has never known anything of his father's death, just a simple statement that he died on a dangerous, scientific endeavor of which the nature was highly classified. _

_When he speaks, his voice is gentle and quiet. _

"_Lucrecia." She looks up at him hesitantly, as if afraid to meet his eyes. "My father's death isn't your fault."_

"_What? Of course it was! He died-" Vincent interrupts her softly._

"_My father died to save you, Lucrecia. You didn't push him into the way, you didn't hide behind him. He pushed _you_ out of the way. How is that your fault?"_

"_No, Vincent, you just don't _understand_!" Lucrecia's voice has escalated to hysteria once again. "It's _my_ fault! You can't love me-it's my fault your father died!"_

_He places a finger against her lips, his eyes steady and gentle. _

"_No, it isn't. Lucrecia, you can't blame yourself for this. You didn't kill my father-he knew exactly what kind of dangers he faced as a scientist. Why are you blaming yourself for this?"_

_She looks at him, completely dumbfounded by his answer, as if the answer is so blindingly obvious, but he simply adds one more sentence before leaning forward._

"_And I do love you, Lucrecia." And with that, he places a careful, wary kiss on her soft, wet lips._

_The kiss seem to snap some kind of invisible boundary within her; immediately, she jerks away, and her eyes are filled with self-loathing as she pulls away from him. Vincent looks down, his crimson eyes dulled and unresponsive, his heart plunged into an embrace of glacial ice as she pushes him away. _

"_I'm sorry, Vincent… I'm so, so sorry… But I can't-I love my husband." _

_With a quiet sob, she turns and hurries to the door, but turns just before she leaves._

"_I'm so sorry…"_

_The sound of the door closing barely registers in his ears, and his only response is to remain on his knees, alone._

* * *

_Vincent Valentine pulls himself out of his reverie when he notices Lucrecia move, her head bowed and her gaze melancholic. Unable to do anything, he simply watches as she turns and walks back to her terminal, settling in her seat, her shoulders even more slumped and defeated than ever, her hair swept across her face as she closes her eyes for a moment, her breath curling from her still lips in a whisper that seems to fill the entire room with resignation and sadness._

_Vincent Valentine can't help but notice that she won't look at him._

_**Apologies for the late, late, LATE update. Thank you for your reviews everyone, they inspired me to continue this story. And thank you in particular for your encouraging reviews, Lecidre; they made my day(s). I almost gave up on this story, but knowing that people actually want me to continue has persuaded me to complete it. Expect slightly more frequent updates :) And also, if anyone can recommend any sad, SAD songs (preferably instrumental), it would be appreciated. Music is a requisite for me to write reasonably well.**_

_**This chapter is dedicated to Lecidre and Ravynne Nevyrmore.**_

_**As always, I hope you enjoy my latest chapter of the story of Vincent Valentine, and, as always, please review.**_

_**Dance Macabre**_


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